


Wayfaring Stranger

by Katowisp



Series: Fairytales and Other Forms of Suicide [1]
Category: Avengers, Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Hurt Loki, Hurt Steve, Loki Angst, Loki Does What He Wants, Myth Arc, Mythology - Freeform, Steve Rogers Angst, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve and Loki adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katowisp/pseuds/Katowisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Winter will fall on the land.  Three years without summer,<br/>and conflict and feuds would break out, even between families,<br/>and all morality will die and this is the beginning of the end"<br/>Loki is ready to play his part heralding the End of Days.<br/>Steve Rogers is prepared to stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers: So It Goes, these guys aren't mine, nor shall they ever be.

# Chapter 1 See the Roads all Ripe with Jewels

_“I've spent too long away from home_  
Did all the things I could have done  
Gone are the days of endless thrills”  
-Going Home, Dan Auberach 

Steve Rogers stared at the documents Fury had unceremoniously thrust into his hands.

“Agent Coulson was working on this for you. It just came through,” was all he said before leaving Steve to study the line of zeroes printed across the first page. After a moment’s hesitation, he folded the papers and stashed them in his jacket pocket. Steve wasn’t sure of the next step to take, but he knew someone who could point him in the right direction.

Within the hour, he stood knocking on the door of Stark Tower. What, he wondered, did proper etiquette call for when visiting a man whose home and business had been partly demolished in the recent alien attack? 

“Captain America,” JARVIS intoned, the doors sliding open with a _woosh_. “Mr. Stark is on the top level. I recommend you take the stairs. The elevator is still out.”

“Sure. Steve is fine, by the way,” he muttered.

“Yes, sir.”

The climb would have exhausted a normal human, and Steve was a little surprised that Tony mustered the energy to climb the stairs everyday. Around floor 5, he remembered the Iron Man suit and chided himself.

At floor 10, he started to second-guess his visit.

At floor 25, he wondered when Tony had the time to hang pictures of himself and his creations in the stairwell. There were a lot of stylistic versions of the Iron Man doing heroic things. It reminded Steve of his embarrassing USO tours. 

Between floors 30 and 35, he had to use a little dexterity to scale the missing steps. By the time he reached floor 36, he could hear strands of an upbeat musical number. By floor 38, he could start to make out the words.

“We’re marching to a faster pace/Look out, here comes the master race.  
Springtime for Hitler and Germany...”

He would not ask about the song. He knew Tony well enough to know when he was being goaded. But the war had just been over a month and a half ago for him, and although it would seem America had moved on, Steve found he didn’t have it in him to regard it as a matter of levity. 

It was easier, he supposed, to make fun of something when most of your friends hadn’t died in it. 

He opened the door to the top floor. In the middle of the debris and collapsed ceiling was Tony Stark, lounging on his couch, sipping from a low-ball and holding a mug out for Steve. 

“Care for a beer? You seem like a beer guy.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Steve said as he navigated piles of construction plastic and chunks of marble and granite. 

“So, Cap, what brings you to my humble abode? Sorry for the mess. I’m renovating.” Tony blithely explained, gesturing around the destroyed room with a sweep if his hand.

“If this is a bad time...” Steve began.

“No, no. I was taking a break.”

“Good. In that case, Fury brought me something I thought you could help with.” 

Tony made a face.

“It’s not another mission, is it?”

“No, nothing like that,” Steve promised, handing over the papers.

Tony settled back into his couch and unfolded the documents. Steve shifted his weight awkwardly. Tony spent a moment scanning the financial diatribe before a smile broke out on his face. He looked up at Steve.

“They backdated your pay?” 

“Yeah. I guess Agent Coulson started putting in the paperwork the moment he realized I was alive. There are also some bonds that have appreciated. And I don’t know how, but he got me backdated at current pay. It’s all hazardous duty, so the money is non-taxable.”

Tony laughed in a way that reminded Steve of Howard, but Steve knew better than to say as much. Howard had always been less stoic, less prickly--but apparently that changed after Tony was born, and Steve’s initial hope of using Howard Stark’s memory as a bonding point between he and Tony quickly fizzled. 

“I’m shit with finances, but I’ve got some killer lawyers. Pepper can help you, too. I see you had a fair amount in savings. Bet you never thought you’d come calling on them seventy years later!”

“No.” He’d made Peggy the primary beneficiary, but she’d never touched it and Steve didn’t know why. He wondered, guiltily, if it was because she’d hoped they’d find him one day, too. 

And they had. It had just been two years too late.

Tony caught the pained expression on Steve’s face, and his expression softened slightly. 

“Here, take a seat.” Tony swept the couch free of debris, dust and little clunks of stone hitting the floor with a clatter. Steve took the proffered seat, settling in a little uneasily. 

“I don’t know what to do with all this money,” Steve admitted, still stunned by the fact his collected finances amassed to over a million dollars. Money had meant a lot more when he was a teen and there wasn’t much of it. Once he’d entered the service, though, the Army had done a good job of taking care of him. Besides, money didn’t matter when friends were dying and he was running missions and hadn’t been sure if he’d make it to the next day.

One of the reasons he’d not signed Agent Coulson’s cards right away was because looking at them had reminded him too closely of the Picture of Dorian Gray--as if somehow the images had retained his youth for all these years.

It was a silly comparison, of course. Gray’s portrait had aged and grown foul. The cards Coulson had called vintage were pictures he’d clearly remembered taking. Rip Van Winkle was a more apt fictional figure. 

“I’ll get my people to take care of you,” Tony offered, breaking Steve from his reverie. He clapped Steve on the back. “Welcome to the one percent.” 

“I don’t understand that reference.” 

Tony laughed again. 

“We’ve got to get you sped up on pop culture and history since you took your nap.”

Sometimes, Steve wasn’t sure he cared to know all the references that flew over his head. The world had gotten a lot stranger and cruder since he went away. 

“JARVIS,” Tony called.

“Sir.” 

“Get this info to Pepper and my legal team and let’s get the Captain settled in with some style. Have you thought about where you’d like you dream home? Malibu? You could be my neighbor. Miami! Oh, or maybe Aspen. No, too much snow. Probably too soon, am I right?”

“I don’t think I need a dream house,” Steve hedged.

“Well, where do you think you’re going to live? You know, there will be downtime. Like now! Where’s SHIELD got you?”

“The BOQ.”

“No!” Tony seemed adamant. “Unacceptable!”

“It’s not that bad,” Steve protested. He rather liked how they’d tried to date it for him.

“No. No, no, no.” Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re staying here until we get you situated.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Are you serious? I’ve got forty floors. There’s room to spare. JARVIS! Pull up Back to the Future.” Tony talked over Steve’s objections. “Your education starts now!”

The lights (what few of them worked) dimmed, and a huge screen unfolded from the ceiling. 

“I think you’ll enjoy this film.” Tony grinned. “Might relate to it on some level.”

A/N  
BOQ stands for Bachelor Officer’s Quarters

The title is from “Mowgli’s Road” by Ariana and the Diamonds

 

This chapter actually intended to be a stand alone. I was musing with my husband what Steve’s backpay must be like. Then it went crazy, and I’ve got two sequels (and a full story past this one.)

I went back and did the math and because I’m lazy, I decided to backdate him at today’s rates and decided hey, that’s what Clauson would do. The original amount amassed to just over a half a million. However, I imagine he’d have some of the same bonds he’d campaigned for put in his account and that, plus his savings, would’ve appreciated a hell of a lot. 

Hazard pay is awarded to anyone in a wartime zone. Technically, I believe only a certain amount is non-taxable. Regardless, this is my thinking behind none of it being taxable once Steve comes calling. 

It takes a few chapters for the ball to get rolling, but please be patient. 


	2. Machine or Mannequin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and JARVIS become friends, and Clint and Natasha move into Stark Tower (But it's still only got an A, and somebody should do something about that)

**Machine or Mannequin**

_I'm not a robot without emotions, I'm not what you see._

I've come to help you with your problems so we can be free.

-Mr. Roboto, the Styx

"Sir," Jarvis intoned, "are you all right?"

No matter how many times Steve had been told JARVIS was merely an intelligent computer, Steve couldn't help but get the creeps when its British, slightly mechanical voice addressed him.

Initially, Steve tried to think of it (him?) as a ghost, but that was worse.

At Steve's silence, JARVIS went on to say, "You have only been sleeping, on average, 1.5 hours total per night in the last week."

"I don't..." Steve cleared his throat. "I don't need a lot of sleep."

"Yes, sir. I am well acquainted with the effects of the serum in your body. However, my data shows that you still require an average of four hours of sleep."

Steve put down his notebook and pen, where he'd idly been sketching his friends from memory. An unfinished Dum Dum grinned back at him, bowler hat askew and a beer raised in cheers.

JARVIS remained silent, patiently awaiting a response.

"I've slept enough," Steve finally said.

"Sir, you have only slept-"

"I spent seventy years sleeping. I have slept _enough."_

"With all due respect, Captain Rogers, several scientific studies have proven that one's body cannot 'harbor' sleep, as it were. I have several lovely natural sound recordings that are quite soothing."

The rhythmic sound of ocean waves spontaneously filled the room. It reminded Steve of when he was very young, back when his parents still had money. They'd taken him to Cape May, where he'd spent the weekend combing the sand for "diamonds." He'd stored them in a box on his shelf, along with other boyhood treasures. The shell of a cicada. A rock smoothed by a river. A shark's tooth. He wondered where that box was now.

"JARVIS, do you have any Glenn Miller?"

"Yes, sir." The beach sounds were replaced by Moonlight Serenade. The lights dimmed, and memories of a smokey bar came back unbidden. Steve set his sketchbook aside, allowing himself to fall into his memories. He was lured back to sleep by Billie Holiday's God Bless the Child, and woke a few hours later feeling well rested. The morning sun was just stretching across the horizon.

"Thanks, JARVIS." Steve rolled his eyes to the ceiling to address the man who wasn't there. 

"My pleasure, sir."

* * *

Steve found himself alone in the destroyed Stark Tower more often than not. After the first day, he asked JARVIS where the tools were so he could start putting things back together. The computer had guided him to Stark's tool room and opened the locked door.

"Won't Stark mind?"

"Probably."

Steve felt odd, but he collected some tools into a beat up red toolbox and grabbed a tool belt and went to find work.

When Steve got lost in the tower (which happened more often than he'd like to admit), JARVIS would quietly guide him in the right direction.

When Steve grew bored, JARVIS recommended new films to watch.

Annette Hanshaw, The Andrews Sisters, Ella Fitzgerald, and all the songs he remembered and loved followed him as he tore down walls and rebuilt cabinets. JARVIS had all the blueprints and could source the materials, and so it was just a matter of putting things back together. Eventually, several strange robots began helping him. There was a stunted robot that proved to be quite industrious. It didn't seem to talk, and Steve felt odd just calling it "robot" so he named it Wells. The robot responded well enough to its name, and soon followed him nearly anywhere in the tower, a silent, oddly shaped, obedient puppy-robot.

One evening, when Steve jolted up from a nightmare (it was Bucky-it was always Bucky-or Peggy, her smooth, husky voice coming in over the radio), JARVIS brought up the lights as Steve flailed, his fingers grasping around his pencils and sketch pad. In his drawings, he hoped to rectify the looks of fear and accusation that so commonly filled his sleeping hours.

Soon, JARVIS became something of a critic, recommending slight adjustments to his pictures, techniques to bring them to life or give them depth. And when Steve plowed through his first sketchbook, he found a whole stack delivered to the front door the next day.

"Sir, would you care to become acquainted with technology?" JARVIS asked one afternoon. Steve looked up from the cabinet door he was carefully sliding onto the wet bar.

"Not really, JARVIS."

"It may prove to be quite a boon to you, sir. Unfortunately, it will not be going away."

"No," Steve sighed as he stood up. He put the screwdriver on the granite counter. "I don't suppose it will."

And so, between remodeling and sketching projects, JARVIS slowly brought Steve up to speed on all things modern. He started with military technology. Steve developed an immediate and intense appreciation for night vision goggles. He thought IR technology was a thing that belonged in the science fiction books, and never could have expected it to be real. He got into occasional ethics debates with JARVIS over the use of drones in war zones.

One evening, as Steve was rearranging the wet bar liquors, JARVIS announced the arrival of one Mr. Stark.

Steve grinned.

When Tony barged into the room, Steve was lounging on the couch he and JARVIS had ordered to replace the torn, debris-ridden couch Tony had first invited him to sit on. He held up a whiskey on the rocks. Tony stopped abruptly, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline and Steve took quiet pleasure in seeing the seemingly unflappable man disturbed.

"Care for a drink?"

Emotions warred on Tony's face. He seemed to settle on disgruntled. Well, no surprise there.

"I said you could live here, not...I mean. What's going on here?"

"JARVIS pulled up your blueprints. I've just been fixing some of the minor things. Ms. Potts said you wanted to make some pretty big renovations, so we just worked on the smaller stuff."

"We?" Tony echoed.

"JARVIS and I," Steve clarified. "And Wells."

"Who?"

"You know, that little robot."

"Huh." Tony crossed the room and took the drink. He settled in beside Steve, looking around the room. The bar was completely fixed, the giant holes in the wall repaired, and there was no longer a gaping hole in the ceiling. Tony took it in silently and then regarded Steve evenly.

"Not bad."

Which, Steve figured, was as close to "thank you" as he'd ever get from Tony Stark.

* * * 

Natasha and Clint quietly moved in on a Thursday morning. It made sense, Steve reflected, because they did everything silently, and as a pair.

He wasn't told why they decided to take up residence in Stark Tower, but as a soldier, he knew not to question orders. Besides, it was nice to have other people around. Tony, when he was around, kept strange hours, and rarely came up for breakfast.

"It's the most important meal of the day," Steve had told him.

"Unless there's mimosa's involved, I'm not interested," Tony's hand drifted over his glasses before grabbing a hi-ball. "I've got the only soldier in the world who doesn't throw them back like a champ. Just my luck," Tony groused as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from his newly fixed bar and headed back downstairs.

Steve flipped the last omelet and delivered a stack of them to the table.

"I didn't figure you for the domestic type, Cap," Natasha rifled through the drawers in the kitchen until she found the silverware and began setting a table for three.

Steve shrugged as he placed a serving in front of Clint. "Breakfast isn't going to cook itself."

Clint took a sip from a cool glass of milk. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No, we'll serve you, your majesty," Natasha handed Clint his utensils.

When Steve was done, he settled down with his own plate.

"Bacon and eggs, I like it. Classic," Natasha spread jam over her toast.

"Protein keeps you full longer," Steve jabbed his eggs. "So how long are you guys here for?"

Natasha and Clint shared a look. "Fury thinks it best if we're all in one place, in case they need to call us up again."

"When they need to call us out again," Clint amended.

"Smart," Steve grabbed his orange juice. "They expecting something to come up?"

"Who knows? Six months ago, our biggest threat was terrestrial. We have enough problems on the earth as it is without alien gods."

"They're not gods," Steve said firmly.

Natasha shrugged. "Whatever they are, they gave us a run for our money."

"Talk about an international incident," Clint said around a mouthful of eggs.

"What about you, Cap? What do you think of the twenty-first century?"

Steve considered, fork poised over his bacon. "It's not so different," He finally said. "We're still at war, and it's just as terrible. But the advances made in the last seventy years-the vaccinations alone!" Steve's face brightened slightly. "In the summer, they used to shut down the pools in the summer because of polio outbreaks and now it's almost completely vanquished."

"Vaccinations, huh?"

"And photographs and TV," Steve continued. "All in color, too."

"The things we take for granted," Clint began.

"Didn't even exist seventy years ago," Natasha finished, a thoughtful look on her face.

"If you'd told me seventy years ago that you didn't even need a wire or an operator for the telephone, I would've thought you were crazy."

"Well, welcome back, Cap."

Cap raised his orange juice. "Thank you."

"I'll cook tomorrow," Natasha offered.

"Sounds good."

As it turned out, Natasha was a pretty good cook, too. After the first day, Steve would show up to prep a meal and Natasha would already be pulling ingredients from the fridge.

And while Clint wasn't as skilled behind a stove, he knew his way around a grill.

Slowly, the three began working up a rotation. Clint and Steve learned the intricacies of Russian cuisine, Clint taught Steve the best way to flip a burger, and JARVIS pointed them towards several cooking websites.

"Food blogs!" Steve exclaimed. Maybe there was something to this internet thing after all.

After a few weeks, the smell of home-cooked meals convinced Tony that there was life outside the workshop and that breakfast, even without alcohol, might be an endeavor worth trying.

"I didn't know I had Martha Stewart in my house," he remarked, sliding into a chair.

Steve ignored Tony, wondering if this was the first time people had actually eaten at this table. Tony either indulged at one of his many parties or charity events and Pepper had a fridge in her office where she kept things like hummus and quinoa and other foods Steve had never heard of.

Clint, who didn't appreciate being referred to as Martha Stewart, unceremoniously dropped a steak on Tony's plate.

"Enjoy," he said, though his tone suggested Tony do otherwise. Tony made a face at Clint's back, but picked up a knife and fork and cut off his first piece.

"Steve, enlighten us. When did you learn how to cook?" Tony asked, chewing his first bite even as he began cutting the second.

Steve stopped scooping mashed potatoes and looked down on his plate. After his father had lost his fortune in the crash of '29, his parents had sunk into depression. It killed his father in the form of whiskey and gin. His mother, whose Irish lungs never quite adjusted to the smog of the city, tried to make due with what they had. She'd taught Steve nearly fifteen ways to cook a potato, about salvaging fat at the bottom of a pan or simmering bones down to make stock. She used all the resources available to her and it was with great shame that she would take him to stand in the soup lines. She'd clasped his hand tightly, her face thin and lined with worry and embarrassment. She'd sold all her finest clothes and jewels so that she could keep them fed, and when that had run out, well...

In late winter of '36, her lungs filled with fluid. It had been a fast decline. Even if the doctors could have done something, they didn't have the money for it.

Steve belatedly realized that all three of his team members were expecting a reply.

"I've eaten enough C-rations in my life," Steve explained, "so JARVIS showed me a few food blogs."

Tony laughed. "JARVIS, you two-timer. If I didn't know better, I'd think you've started liking our dear Captain America more than me."

"Sir," JARVIS said.

"The food is great," Natasha quickly declared, before Tony could say anything else.

Steve smiled, "Thanks," He jabbed at his food. The steak had lost its flavor and he finished his meal mechanically.

* * * 

When Clint wasn't running missions for SHIELD, he'd taken to showing Steve the city. Steve enjoyed Central Park most of all, because in seventy years, it had changed the least. He also introduced Steve to fast food and all the gym equipment the new century had to offer.

"You had gym equipment in your day, right? I bet it hasn't changed much," Clint remarked He, like Steve, appreciated good, old-fashioned weights and punching bags (which, fortunately, hadn't changed at all.)

On the weekends, when Natasha wasn't out on missions of her own, she'd get permission to fly the jet out. She'd take Steve and Clint and they'd visit all the National Parks. Steve had seen a lot of cities when he'd toured the US as part of the PR campaign, but he'd never gotten to appreciate the full effects of the Square Deal, the CCC and the combined efforts of the Roosevelt cousins on the National Park system.

"Where are you guys going?" Tony asked, popping his head into the cockpit.

"The Grand Canyon," Steve answered.

Tony rolled his eyes even as he entered and took a seat. "It's just a big dent in the earth."

"I've never seen it. We're going to hike to the bottom."

"Natasha, how the hell do you get Fury to let you take the jet out every weekend?" Tony called to the front.

Natasha glanced back. "Fury owes me."

Steve kept his face glued to the window during the flight. Tony groused about "fly-over" states, but Steve enjoyed watching the great green circles or squares indicating farms. He imagined farm life hadn't changed much since the '40s, and he took comfort in that thought.

The plains gave way to the earth-tones of the high desert and distant mountains. Natasha banked the jet south, following the ridge of the Rockies. The mountains were soon replaced with scrub brush and then the gaping maw of the Grand Canyon.

Steve pressed his face to the window, his muscles thrumming with excitement. Natasha pulled them in for a landing.

The team headed out to the to the ridge. The canyon had taken on the deep colors of sunset: the brilliant orange sandstone was shaded in purples and blues.

Steve couldn't believe there was a glass bridge over the canyon. He felt intense vertigo as he stood on it, looking down.

"Should we start the hike?" 

"It can probably way until morning," Natasha suggested. "Bunk here for the night and set off first thing."

"You moto types do that. I'll be up here, lounging around." Tony thumbed the jet and its plusher accommodations.

They wandered the ridge, taking note of the trail heads. Multiple signs warned them of imminent death should they decide to try and hike to the bottom and back up in one day.

"Think that applies to us?" Clint asked, studying one of the giant warning signs that sported a marathon runner who had died in the attempt. "Ten bucks says we could do it in twenty-four hours."

"We didn't pack all this sleeping gear so you guys could run down and back in one go," Natasha pointed out.

Steve turned to protest when her phone chirped. She held up a hand, signaling for them to wait. Steve could guess who was on the other end and was disappointed that they'd have to leave so soon.

"Agent Romanoff," she said. There was a pause before she replied, "Understood. We'll be there immediately," She turned to her team mates. "Sorry, boys, we've been called up. There's a mission."

"I'll let Tony know," Steve offered. He whipped out the phone Pepper had ordered for him. It wasn't a Jitterbug, which had been Tony's recommendation, but one of the new smart phones. Steve was quite proud of it.

"Siri, call Tony Stark."

"Calling Tony Stark," Siri complied.

Steve beamed at them. If Clint and Natasha were surprised, they had the decency to hide it.

"So what's the mission?" Clint asked as they buckled into the jet.

"Classified. Just you and me."

"Oh, all the Avengers aren't needed?" Tony asked, put out. "Well shit, no reason we couldn't have stayed here."

"Got orders to drop you and Cap back off at Stark Tower. Guess SHIELD isn't ready for you two to run around America just yet."

"I don't answer to SHIELD!" Tony protested.

Natasha shrugged. "You're also not skipping your ride home."

Tony grumbled but didn't push it any further.

Natasha glanced towards Steve and said, "Sorry, Cap."

"It's all right. Got to see it, didn't I?"

"We'll get back here. It's not like the Grand Canyon is going anywhere," Tony said, pushing his chair back into the reclining position and slipping his shades down.

"No," Steve agreed, watching the canyon grow distant, giant shadows claiming the details until it looked little more than a fading crack.

END CHAPTER

A/n

So these two chapters are meant to be slow just to establish the developing relationship. Don't worry; next chapter picks up. 

As far as I can figure, Tony never named that little robot of his, and even if he did, he probably didn't share it with Steve. I figured Steve would name if after a science fiction author he was probably familiar with.

Cape May, New Jersey is famous for these little crystals that are found on the beaches there. They call them diamonds.

IR means infared.

The CCC were the Civilian Conservation Corps. During the depression, in order to employ single, unemployed men, FDR started up this work relief program. He used them to build roads and they're largely responsible for the trails in today's parks. They also built more than 800 new National Parks and improved the current parks. They were integral to reforesting America, planting over 3 billion trees. They were shut down in 1942 as the War began to employ most men and the government's coffers had to go towards the war effort.

Also, there's not a lot of information about Steve's early days besides the fact that he was going to school for fine arts and that his mother was sickly and died, leaving him orphaned. His father died from alcoholism earlier in his childhood. I figure that as a resident of NY City, there was a good chance as any that his parents had been fairly well off before the stock market crash and that they, like many others, lost everything they had.

His mother is from Ireland, so although used to living well, she wouldn't have forgotten her roots. It is these things that she taught Steve.

I also figured that maybe Steve would be pretty interested in seeing the fruits of labor by the CCC and New Deal-a project he lived through but, I am sure, never got to appreciate.


	3. We Used to Throw Thunderbolts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor arrived on a humid summer afternoon.

****

We Used to Throw Thunderbolts  
_Morning, it's another pure grey morning_  
Don't know what the day is holding  
When I get uptight  
And I walk right into the path of a lightning bolt  
Lightning Bolt, Jake Buggs

On a late August afternoon, Steve watched from his room as thunder clouds grew over New York. The clouds moved much more swiftly and deliberately than a typical late summer storm, but it went unnoticed by the vast majority of New Yorkers, wrapped up in their lives, heads bent over tiny phones as they rapidly typed messages to friends.

Within minutes, the clouds focused their mass over Stark Tower and Steve ran up to the top floor just in time for the lightening to coalesce and deliver Thor onto the repaired roof. He arrived with as much bluster as his storm: brilliant and loud.

Steve wondered how much the black mark left by Thor's arrival would cost to repair. He made a note to ask JARVIS.

The clouds cleared. Steve had a feeling that whatever news Thor brought would not clear as quickly.

"My friend!" Thor bellowed, walking towards Steve at a deliberate pace. He abruptly pulled Steve in for a a crushing hug. Steve awkwardly patted Thor on the back.

"Steve is fine," he said, untangling himself from Thor's massive arms.

"Steve! I trust your wound has healed with no ill effects?"

Steve touched his abdomen where he'd been shot during their last battle. SHIELD's doctors had patched it up quickly, but it'd healed quickly enough on its own. "I'm fine."

"I am glad to hear it!"

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Tony asked as he came onto the terrace, swirling a martini, an eyebrow raised. He glanced at the damaged area of his roof and glanced at Steve, his lips upturned in a smirk.

Thor's face darkened. "I bring ill tidings, friends. I come seeking your help. My brother has escaped. I have cause to believe that his travels may have lead him back to Earth. "

"Slippery guy, huh?"

"No, I believe he retains the same physical state as you or I. Usually," Thor hurriedly tacked on. He seemed to consider whether or not Loki might truly be slippery.

"So what's he doing here?" Natasha asked as she and Clint arrived on the terrace. They both endured the same breath-stealing hug that Thor had bestowed on Steve. Natasha slipped out of it quickly, leaving Clint to glare at her over Thor's shoulder.

Thor finally pulled away and looked at them, his face growing somber.

"I believe my brother to be in search of mistletoe. It is of the utmost importance he not be allowed to bring it back to Asgard."

"Mistletoe?" Clint echoed. "That's harmless enough, isn't it?"

"My mother thought as much. When she bestowed my brother, Balder, with invincibility, she thought not to include the tiny mistletoe, for she found it to be weak and unseemly. Now it is the one thing that can kill him."

"There's another brother?" Tony broke in. "Go figure. Is he bent on destroying everything, too?"

"Balder is very brave! He is the best of us!" Thor exclaimed indignantly.

Tony held up his hands and said, "Woah, big guy. I didn't mean to offend."

Thor's stormy features smooth and he accepted Tony's apology with a nod.

"No offense was taken. You do not know of our family affairs; it was wrong for me to anger so quickly."

"Why don't you tell us the story over dinner?" Clint suggested. "Steve's got some stuff baking in the oven."

"Yes, a feast is a fine place for a tale such as this," Thor agreed, marching past the rest of the team. He paused at the door. "I fear I do not know where to go."

"Follow us, buddy." Tony pushed past him and lead the team down to the dining room.

Once Thor had shoveled a helping of Steve's chicken parmesan onto his plate and taken several gulps from the red wine supplied by Tony, he began his tale.

"My brother Balder is calm and even tempered. He is as intelligent and clever as Loki, but not as devious. He is the strongest of us, stronger even than I. But he has no aspirations for the throne and would be content to be my adviser, when it is time for me to be king."

"A rare individual," Steve mused.

"Very rare," Thor took a hearty gulp of wine from his cup, emptying it one go. Wells smoothly moved in to top it off again.

"You're going to drink me into the poorhouse," Tony groused.

"He's doing no more damage than you do on an hourly bases," Natasha said dryly.

"This is the problem with having my teammates live in my house," Tony grumbled, taking a sip from his own glass.

"You were talking about Balder," Clint urged.

"Yes! You have to understand: my mother holds Balder dearest in her heart. I bear no grudge, as Balder is the most beloved of all the Aesir and deservedly so. Everyday I aspire to be more like him. But Loki has long resented Balder for being first most in our mother's heart, and has long sought to ruin him.

"When Balder was but a child, he had terrible dreams that tormented him. He believed it to be a portent of his death. My mother grew alarmed and set it upon herself to travel the realms and gain an oath from all things that they would bring no harm to her beloved son.

"First, she traveled the mighty realm of Asgard. She spoke first to the earth, the stones, the iron, the great rocks and molten lava. She said, 'I bring you no quarrel, Earth. I have but great respect for you and yours. I come asking a favor, that for as long as we both shall live, no harm shall befall my son, Balder.'

"'Lady Frigga, though we are but earth and rock and iron, we swear you this oath: No weapon made from us shall cleave his flesh. No quake nor slide shall crush him. As long as we both shall live, we swear this to you.'"

"That's a hell of a power your mom's got!" Tony exclaimed.

Thor ignored him.

"Satisfied, my mother next went to the fire. Although we are mighty, fire is ever enduring, and it is with great courage that my mother faced the flames. She sought the same oath and it was given to her.

"My mother went to the water and exacted the same promise. Balder would never sink to a watery grave, no ship he sailed would crash against barren rocks. Next she met with all manner of beast, from the great earth-shakers down to the things we cannot see, but can cause great harm to us - the fever-makers and wasting diseases. All swore that Balder would not come to harm from them.

"She then traveled to the trees and plants. The great oak said, "Lady Frigga, although all things must have an ending, I swear to you upon the lives of all my children that Balder the Good shall never befall harm from any of our kin.'

"And thus each living thing-and some things that are not living-swore that no ill would come to my brother on behalf of them. But there was one tiny thing from which she had not gathered such an oath. It was the mistletoe, grown only on the eastern plains of Valhalla. She hastened to return home and found it too young and feeble to pose a threat. She banished that mistletoe from Asgard to Midgard, so that it may live but be distanced from Balder. Thus, she felt she had suitably dealt with the issue of his invincibility. For not only would the death of Balder be the greatest tragedy Asgard has ever seen, but his death heralds the beginning of Ragnarok, which is the end of all life."

"So the mistletoe's on earth?" Natasha leaned in.

"It is."

"I can already see where this is going," Clint said around a bite of chicken parm.

"Loki, through deceit, discovered this one weakness shortly before his escape. I fear he may be here, looking for this mistletoe to bring harm to Balder. I beseech that you, my friends, help me in preventing this. Not only to save Balder's life, but Loki's. I fear that should he become a Kinslayer, there will be nothing left of the brother I knew and loved."

Thor finished and looked around the table.

Tony finished his wine, taking several gulps before setting the crystal glass back on the table.

Clint and Steve shared a look. Steve shrugged slightly.

"Isn't mistletoe everywhere, though?" Natasha finally asked.

"Indeed, but there is but one Asgard mistletoe on the whole of Midgard. It is this shrub that Loki seeks."

"So not only do we have to find a plant that Loki is looking for, but there's only one in the whole world?" Tony clarified.

"That's correct."

"Great."

"It shall not be an easy quest, but it is of the utmost importance. Should we succeed, our names will ever be sung in the mighty halls of Gladsheim. Will you join me, friends, in this mighty quest?"

"I'm in," Steve said automatically. He was starting to feel useless again, with Clint and Natasha always gone on missions and Tony doing... whatever Tony did, all the time.

"It's been a few months since we've had to save the earth, so count me in," Clint volunteered.

"Why the hell not?" Tony said rhetorically.

"I better contact Fury," Natasha said. "He'll be wanting to hear about this."

"Should we get Bruce on board?"

"Might as well, if he's interested."

The group dispersed to make their personal preparations and calls. Steve and Thor were left alone in the dining room. Steve began taking plates into the kitchen.

Thor got up and helped carry things in.

"I worry my brother may too far for saving," Thor admitted, breaking the silence. "But I love him still."

Steve couldn't pretend to understand the intricacies of Thor's world and family, but he knew a little about family and love.

"Does he know that?"

"I have told him on several occasions. My mother and father had such high hopes for him, but-" Thor sighed, and Steve didn't know Thor could sound so defeated. "But I think perhaps he sullies their regard towards him with the same regard he shows others."

Steve grunted noncommittally.

"It would seem there is not enough love in all of Asgard to make Loki feel welcome. It is to my great chagrin that I admit I may have been a part of that."

"Oh?" Steve asked, shoving the dishes into the dishwasher. (And wasn't that a neat invention?)

"Children can be unkind."

"Yes." And it appeared that was true, regardless of the culture or world.

"Loki was always much more frail than Balder or I. He was not skilled in the ways of a warrior, and became adept in magic instead. I could not believe such a thing-a man is not meant to know magic. It is the way of women. I told him such, on many occasions."

Steve knew what it was to be bullied. To weigh a buck nothing at an even five foot five and to be an artist had made him the butt of many jokes, until the day he took the super serum.

"Some would say washing dishes is women's work," Steve said as he put another dish in the washer. "But I suggest you tell Agent Romanov's place is in the kitchen and see where it gets you."

Thor regarded the plate he was handing Steve.

"Is he good at magic?" Steve asked.

"Among the very best."

They fell into a companionable silence, making quick work of the dishes before Steve excused himself to get his suit together.

They reported to SHIELD HQ within the hour. Fury fizzled onto the screen, gazing across the table with his intense eye, and was that a quirk of a smile on his face? Steve wondered. He looked around, trying to see what Fury saw, and realized that he saw a group of people who were starting to behave like a team all the time, and not just when it mattered.

"Banner will be here shortly," Agent Hill spoke up from just behind Fury. "He agreed to lend his services. He's studying on the way and will brief us on what he's learned."

"That was big of him," Tony remarked, grinning at his pun. Natasha rolled her eyes.

The moment Bruce arrived, Fury gestured for him to share what he'd gathered on his trip in. Bruce nodded at the team before settling into the wide chair waiting and empty. He looked small against the black leather, his hair tousled, his eyes haunted. He pulled out a collection of heavily annotated notes and shuffled through them for a moment before looking up.

"It would appear that when the Asgard mistletoe was placed here, it was hidden quite well. My research indicates the Asgard mistletoe, or AM, most strongly resembles _Viscum album_ which is indigenous only to Europe and western and southern Asia."

"That narrows it down," Tony muttered. Bruce ignored him and continued speaking.

"Pliny the Elder made note in his records of an ancient druidic belief that mistletoe collected from oaks had special qualities. It is my assumption that AM is growing in an oak tree somewhere in Europe."

"So, several millennia ago, someone stumbled upon an oak with actual mystical properties, and it is this tree that was the source of their legends and mythology?" Clint hedged.

"It's possible."

"Any trees match that description?" Steve asked.

"There is one tree, the Stelmuze Oak in Lithuania, reported to be between 1500 and 2000 years old. It's said to be the oldest tree in Europe. If the AM is anywhere, I think it would be there. Traditionally, Lithuania was very pagan and has intermingled those beliefs with those of Catholicism. It's possible they stumbled onto the magical properties of this oak, as Clint mentioned," Bruce concluded, looking back up from his notes.

"I do not have to impress the importance of this mission to you," Fury growled. "You'll go in your civilian clothes but bring your gear. We don't want to arouse suspicion in the local populace just yet. We're coordinating with the Lithuanian government for your insertion. You'll be good to go by the time you get there. Any questions?"

There were none. Fury nodded. "This is Fury, over and out." The live connection fizzled out.

The team broke and spent the next half hour changing over. Steve threw on his biker jacket and jeans over his Captain America suit. He tucked his shield into the bag SHIELD had made for it and headed towards the jet.

When he got there, Natasha was already in the cockpit conducting pre-flight checks with Clint. Thor stood behind them with his arms crossed. He'd managed to slide a jacket over his armor and Steve decided not to ask how the cape fit into it.

Tony sauntered in with his Iron Man suitcase. He slid it under his seat and settled in.

Bruce followed behind, slipping unobtrusively into a seat.

"Thor, come on and take a load off!" Tony patted the empty seat next to him.

Thor forcibly relaxed his shoulders and smiled at Tony as he settled in for the ride.

Steve didn't know what to expect of Lithuania. As the jet came in for the landing, he scanned the countryside from his window. The land was predominately flat with a few low hills on the horizon. Numerous rivers cut the land, and Steve could just make out the Baltic Sea in the distance.

Natasha touched down a few miles outside of the village of Stelmuze. They didn't have to worry about a runway because the SHIELD jet had V/TOL ("Vertical take off and landing," Natasha had explained to Thor) capabilities.

"You can thank Stark industries for our fancy V/TOL footwork," Tony spoke up, as if reading Steve's mind.

Steve shot Tony an inquisitive look.

"The first V/TOL planes were the Harriers. They're not shoddy, but just about anything can take them out of the sky. Smallest bit of FOD-boom. Plane's down. I kid you not, snails can take a Harrier out."

"FOD?"

"Foreign object debris. You know, things like rocks and snails. If there's anything on the deck during a Harrier landing, it'll get sucked right into the engine and shut it down."

"Oh."

"The American government is fielding F-35s to replace them, but the project is a monster. Everyone in Congress wants a piece of the pie. The project has been held up for years and every state sources one part or another, so it costs an exuberant amount of money. The Marines just got their first squadron, but I decided to make my own. Congress can suck eggs."

Steve made a mental note to ask JARVIS about that later. Besides using planes as a form of transportation, he had never been much of a Winger. As far as he was concerned, there was fixed wing and rotary wing, a jet was a jet, and he could never keep all the designation numbers straight.

The jet rested in the open field. As they piled out, the dust and debris kicked up by the landing still filtered through the air. They stood for a moment on the plains, taking in their surroundings and observing the countryside.

The tree was just over two miles out. They'd decided to land far enough away so as not to gain a lot of attention. Tony protested having to walk that far, but Natasha stayed firm on where they put the bird down. "It's too close as it is," she'd said, her mouth drawn in a thin line.

Tony had learned not to argue with that tone.

They found a nearby footpath that lead to a small unpaved road. As they walked, they joked and bantered, and Steve was reminded of his old team. There had been a lot of hiking in the Army. Steve had seen more of Germany's countryside by foot than by vehicle, and he'd had no problem with that.

The sky was blue, spotted with perfect, white clouds. Birds flitted across the fields, unconcerned with the current threat to their world. Steve had often admired how nature remained indifferent, even during war.

The tree came into view, a giant that dwarfed everything else. As they approached, they could see half of it appeared dead. Numerous supports lifted ancient limbs, and there were a fair number of people gathered around its boughs. A fence surrounded it, preventing the crowd from drawing too near.

There was a sign in several languages that indicated this was a natural monument and a projected object. The team stood beneath the giant tree, their heads craning upwards.

"There," Bruce said. He indicated a small, green plant. It was the only living thing on the dead side.

"The shrub seems to have caused the death of that part of the tree," Thor observed. "I am not surprised; that tree has been host to a foreign parasite lo these many years."

Steve could see why Lady Frigga had deemed the mistletoe an object unworthy of an oath. It certainly appeared unassuming. Steve had a hard time imagining that little plant could be the one thing that brought doom to all of Asgard and Earth.

"So what do we do? Just snatch it out?" Tony asked.

"We should wait until after sunset. There will be less people around. I imagine the locals will get pretty pissed if we stole something from the most recognized tree in Lithuania," Clint said.

"I'm not sitting by a tree for five hours," Tony argued. "Boring."

"We'll set up a guard, just to make sure Loki doesn't try to take it while we're gone. There's a local town nearby, so a couple of us can stay there until nightfall," Steve said.

"I am unconcerned with visiting the village," Thor spoke up. "I shall stand watch until your return."

"I'll stay with you," Steve offered. "The rest of you, take some R&R over in Stelmuze. We'll keep comm up and notify you if anything happens. Report back at 1900."

"Okay there, Captain," Tony clapped Steve on his back. "7 PM, got it."

"We can switch out, take watches," Clint offered. Steve waved him off.

"It's okay. You and Natasha have been running enough missions recently. Take some downtime."

The team made their goodbyes and headed off for the town, just visible from the tree. Steve and Thor watched the team meander down the road.

"Tony Stark can be a difficult man," Thor commented to Steve, once the group was out of hearing range.

"I knew his father."

"Oh!" Thor looked interested. "Were they much the same?"

"Definitely not," Steve said wryly. "I was a little disappointed."

"My father is the wisest man in all of Asgard. I would do well to live up to his name. But it is my brother, Balder, who has the best traits of us all. He has all my father's wisdom and my mother's compassion. He would never be tricked to start a war with Jotunheim in the name of pride and vanity."

"But you were?" Steve guessed.

"Indeed, I was."

Thor explained the incident that had banished him to Earth in the first place. Steve listened quietly.

"So Loki set up the whole situation to gain your father's love?"

"My brother often finds himself wanting." Thor sighed, his blue eyes distant as he looked at over the plain. "I could never love another as much as I love my brothers, but Loki has a dark thing in his soul. All the love our family has cannot move him."

Steve stooped to pick up a blade of wild grass. Pulling off the end, he stuck it into his mouth and chewed on it absently, comforted by the familiar taste of earth. He'd chewed on grass as a kid because he'd heard that it would lessen his asthma. He leaned against the low fence that bordered the tree and thought about Loki. He found that he could relate to Thor's brother on some level. He understood being a small guy in a warriors' culture and doing whatever he could to get recognized. He'd been willing to lie on his enlistment forms despite the consequences, if it had meant a chance in the Army.

Of course, he wouldn't have hurt anyone in pursuit of his goal. Steve swallowed heavily, willing away a falling Bucky and a distressed Peggy, her voice coming in steady and thick over the comm on his last dive into the frozen ocean.

"Steve? Are you well?"

"Just lost in memories," Steve admitted.

"Come, we have many hours before us. Tell me your story."

And so Steve told Thor of a small boy in Brooklyn who had dreams of being more than he was.

"And what of your parents?"

"My father was an officer in World War I. They had called it the War To End All Wars, because nobody ever thought we would see war again. Britain had a 'Lost Generation' because of all the men that died in those battles. It was a terrible thing. When the war ended, my father came back and was pretty successful. But the stock market crashed, and he lost everything. He had a hard time, anyway, with his memories. When he found he could no longer provide for his family, he sank into a depression. He went to sleep one day and never woke up."

They had found him in an alley, slumped against the wall, his last fine suit soiled with bodily fluids released upon his death, a bottle clutched in his hand. 

Steve had identified the body. He told his mother it had been his heart and he felt dirty by the lie. His mother had nodded, but the look in her eyes told Steve she suspected the truth.

The whispers in the street confirmed it.

"The loss of a father is a terrible thing to bear," Thor said, and his eyes were so earnest that Steve felt compelled to carry on.

"My mother did the best she could, but there wasn't much to eat. I was already a scrawny guy, but without food..." Steve trailed off.

"A warrior must eat hardily indeed. Why, my friend Volstagg can consume near half his weight in boar alone! It is a great endeavor to keep him sated."

"Yeah," Steve said. "There was a political leader named Hitler. He promised a lot of things to Germany. The entire country was poor and starving, so when a man came in promising them greatness and wealth, they were eager to follow. He was a great speaker, and a great liar."

"Like Loki," Thor added, looking pained.

"Maybe," Steve agreed. He cleared his throat. "In 1939, he invaded another country. Soon, people started disappearing. He had a plan for a Master Race, better than all others. Those that didn't make the grade went away. I don't think any of us... knew what he had done until we started liberating Europe."

Steve had aided in the liberation of some of the concentration camps. The things he'd seen were things he never wanted to form into words. JARVIS had shown him Schindler's List and he'd cried nearly the whole way through.

"And you joined the Army?" Thor prompted.

"I tried. They kept giving me an F-4, meaning I didn't fit their physical criteria. I had this sickness called asthma. I couldn't breathe sometimes." Teddy Roosevelt also had asthma. The man had become his personal hero, and he'd sought to embody the president. He'd made the man a surrogate father.

"But you persevered?"

"There was this scientist. He had a thing that could make any man the epitome of human perfection. But if given to the wrong man, it would corrupt him. He saw me trying to enlist one day and decided I might be the boy worthy of it. I was chosen and given the serum, but he was assassinated shortly after. Instead of having an army of super soldiers, the Army had me."

"A worthy man, if ever there was one," Thor lauded. Steve remained silent. He wondered how many men he could have saved, had he turned away from the PR campaign earlier than he had. "But how is that you have come to us now?"

"There was another man who had been given the serum. Johann Schmidt, although he went by Red Skull when I met him. He had a plan to destroy all the major cities of the world. I took control of the plane he had sent to bomb them. We fought, he destroyed himself, but the controls had been damaged in the process. I sunk the plane before it could reach any of its intended targets. The serum kept me alive until SHIELD thawed me from the ice."

"You have seen Death!"

"Well," Steve started. He hadn't seen it that way. Thor clasped him on the back.

"I have never met a worthier man to lead our band against Loki."

"Thanks?" Steve ventured.

"In Asgard, we would sing ballads about your heroics," Thor enthused. "Few are those who have welcomed Death's embrace and returned to tell the tale. You would be fine company in our great halls, and in the halls of Valhalla. Truly, when Ragnarok comes, I would count myself lucky to have you by my side."

"Well, hopefully it won't come to that."

"Ha! Truer words have never been spoken," Thor agreed.

They fell into a companionable silence, watching the slow arc of the sun over the sky as they waited for it to set. Thor was intensely interested by the tourists, watching them snap pictures and chatter happily.

"Your people seem happy."

Steve glanced at the people, families with small children, young couples and old, their faces lined with age but their eyes still soft with the love they held for one another.

 _That should be me,_ He thought.

"Yes, they do," he said.

At the gloaming, they were approached by an old woman, her aged figure curved over a walking stick. Her gray hair was pulled back into a long braid but fly aways curled around her face. She wore a faded blouse tucked into a long skirt of deep green that gave way to muddied shoes. Her skin, what little of it was showing, was thin and liver spotted, and the hand that grasped the cane was gnarled with arthritis. She grinned toothily at them.

"Are you foreigners?" Her accent was heavy and nearly indecipherable.

"Indeed we are!" Thor exclaimed.

"Come to see our mighty oak?"

"Yes ma'am," Steve replied.

"When I was young, it had not yet been protected and I used to climb its branches. But," she laughed, "that was many years ago. Now people come from across the world to see my climbing tree. To them, it is a novelty. For me, an old friend. It seems if you live so many years, people consider you a marvel. Maybe one day people will come to marvel me!"

Steve studied the old woman. Her back was bowed with age and her eyes were cloudy, but when she smiled, he thought he could see a glimpse of the girl that had climbed the boughs of the old oak. She would have been a child during the war. He wondered who she had lost in it.

"What brings you to this old tree?" She prompted, her gaze distant, as if remember the days when she was spry and beautiful.

"There is a plant that poisons it. We hope to remove it so it should remain healthier still for many years," Thor answered.

"Just sightseeing," Steve said simultaneously, glancing at Thor.

The old woman chuckled. If she had heard Thor's answer, she didn't give any indication of it.

"Be sure to head into town before it gets too late. We're famous for our ale and cold beet soup. My hands may be old and curled, but I make the best soup in town. My home is open to you, when you come."

"We couldn't impose," Steve began.

"I invited you, didn't I? Ask for the Old Lady, they'll show you the way."

"We will," Thor promised with a broad grin.

She nodded her head, pausing at the tree a moment longer, her mouth curved upwards in remembrance days when she could still scale the ancient branches. "Enjoy your evening," she wished, tottering off.

"What a pleasant woman," Thor commented, watching her go. "If Loki does not show, we should take her up on her offer."

"I would not think to impose Tony Stark on any member of that village," Steve said, turning from where he'd watched her go, her steps belabored as she navigated the worn road.

Shortly before seven, they could see the rest of the team approaching from the village. As the evening wore on, fewer tourists hung out by the tree and by the time the rest of the Avengers arrived, they were alone.

They approached the tree.

"How was the town?" Steve asked.

"What you'd expect," Natasha sidled up, head craned back to look up at the tree. "How was your day?"

"Peaceful," Steve said.

"So how do we do this?" Bruce asked.

"I think I can probably just shoot it out," Clint offered. Glancing around to ensure they were alone, he knotted a rope to an arrow. He took aim and let loose.

The arrow flew true, but it fell to the ground just before hitting its mark. Clint looked surprised.

"It is protected!" Thor declared. "That is my mother's magic at work."

Steve eyed the tree. "We could try climbing it," he ventured.

"Yes! That might work. I will do it!" Thor scaled the short fence. The rest of the team stood below, watching as he hauled himself up a supporting structure and into the tree. He grabbed at the mistletoe and pulled it loose. It seemed to stick for just a moment before it pulled free. A burst of green light rolled off it and the leaves ghosted in an unseen wind.

"Did the tree just sigh?" Tony glanced at the team.

"That's not possible," Bruce answered quickly, but he looked uncertain.

Thor jumped gracefully from the branch, the plant tucked under his arm. Just as he reached the bottom, a broad smile on his face as he strode towards them, the old woman they'd met earlier came tottering towards them. She moved much more swiftly than before. Her face was wrathful, her mouth drawn back in a snarl.

"What are you doing!" She hissed.

"Why, my dear woman," Thor called as he jumped the fence, "we are but removing this shrub. It poisons your good tree."

"Foolish man!" The woman's mouth drew back in a toothy smile and she cackled, but her laughter was unnaturally deep. Her crooked back straightened as she grew a over a foot in height, her skin rippling and forming tight around the lean body of a young man. The wrinkles from her face smoothed, the rheumy eyes grew clear. Loki smiled at them.

"Probably should've seen _that_ coming," Tony sighed, unlocking his suitcase.

"Brother, I expected you'd come sooner or later," Loki said as he regained his form. "Mother's magic surpassed my own and I couldn't shake that shrub free from its place." Loki held out his hand, shaking it impatiently. "Come, give it to me."

Thor clutched the mistletoe to his chest. "Loki, think of what you are doing! Come home. I shall plead your case."

Loki laughed. "The Aesir know my intent! I will not turn from my endeavor." He shoved his staff into the ground and the ground shuddered massively, knocking the team off their feet.

Steve looked over to see Tony had completely donned his Iron Man suit. He'd used his propulsion system to shoot him off the ground as the earthquake hit. He remained there, hovering for just a moment before landing gracefully.

Thor held out his hand expectantly. The evening sounds fell silent and a quiet thrumming filled the air as Mjölnir responded to his call from the jet.

"I come better prepared this time," Loki said, his eyes glancing towards where Bruce was morphing into the Hulk. He spoke a word, and a light shot from his staff. Bruce rapidly returned to his human form, collapsing in an unconscious heap.

Thor dropped the mistletoe and shouted a battle cry as his hammer hit his hand, launching himself towards Loki.

Steve bolted towards the plant as the illusion of Loki faded. Just as Steve reached his goal, the Loki Thor was attacking disappeared and the real Loki stooped to grab the mistletoe.

Steve's hands reached it the same time Loki's did, and they regarded one another in surprise as Lithuania abruptly disappeared.

A/N

It's true about Harriers. The American military adopted them from the British, who only have a few and so upkeep is a lot easier. We used to spend hours on the training flight carrier scouring the ground for pebbles and snails. (I can send pictures!) Despite our best efforts, however, we still had a bird grounded for a night while they did maintenance. Even though we put Rhino snot around the deck to prevent FOD getting shot up, the Harrier came in too close and sent debris up everywhere, sucking it into the engine.

The F-35 is the direct replacement for it, and everything Tony says about it is true. The whole development is bogged down in more bureaucracy than you can shake a stick at. I'm sure it'll be a great plane when it finally hits the flight line. The Marines just formed the first squadron for it out of Yuma!

 

A Winger is a person who works in the Air Wing.

The mistletoe bit is taken straight from Norse mythology and the comic books, with a few of my own creative liberties added in.

The tree is real. It is a protected site outside of the real village of Stelmuze, which, unfortunately, has few facts or pictures. I had to take a few creative liberties. It is estimated to be between 1500 and 2000 years old.

Half of the tree IS dead, however, and mistletoe is a parasitic plant. I figure a plant from Asgard would prove to be particularly damaging to a Midgard tree.

I apologize in advance for any misinterpretations of Lithuania. I have not been there myself but after researching it, I'd love to go. Most of my facts came from the Lonely Planet travel guide and the EU's description.

If you are from Lithuania or have been there, please inform me about your country and this village!

Anyway, as you can guess, the story picks up from here on out but I thought a few establishing chapters necessary. The focus shifts to Loki and Steve and their travels on Yggdrasil.


	4. Wandering Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve are transported to the icy plains of Niflheim

**Wandering Souls**

**_I'm a wandering soul_ **

**_I got no place of my own_ **

**_Well I got nothing to give_ **

**_Well I got nothing to show for it_ **

**_And I'll be wandering all, for all my years_ **

**_What I become no one could know  
_ **

**-"People C'mon" -Delta Spirit**

Both Steve and Loki were still clutching the plant when they landed in a vast icy plain. They landed in a snowbank that gave way immediately under their weight, causing them to sink to their waists in the snow. They glared at one another over the mistletoe. A million cold stars and a full moon shone above them.

"My quarrel is not with you, mortal. Let go," Loki demanded, pulling the mistletoe and Steve with it.

"No," Steve said. He yanked the mistletoe violently, cursing himself for not grabbing his shield as soon as Loki revealed himself. It was still strapped to his back and he couldn't reach it without loosening his grip on the plant. He gave the plant another healthy yank, Loki's arms pulled forward with the effort. He stumbled slightly in the snowpack.

Loki snarled, "You trifle with things you do not understand. Let go."

"I will not," Steve said, pulled forward by effort. He tried to reposition his grasp on the plant and found his hands wouldn't budge. Shock shot through his system as he realized he couldn't free his hands at all. Ignoring Loki for a moment, he focused all his energy on separating himself from the plant.

He couldn't do it.

Steve looked up at Loki. His enemy had seemed to realize that he, too, was trapped to the plant. Loki's staff was tucked under his arm and he held the plant with both hands. That was a small blessing, at least.

Their eyes met again.

"Let go," Loki repeated evenly, but this time there was a crease in Loki's brow.

"I won't. I can't," Steve amended. When Loki's brow furrowed deeper, he continued, "I suspect you can't, either."

Loki scowling, forcibly tried to remove his own hands. Steve tried a new tactic, forcing himself to relax and loosen his grip entirely. With effort, his left hand finally began to pull free from the mistletoe. It gave way slowly, as if pulling from molasses, his hand tingling with the effort. He tried the same thing with his right hand, but it remained soldered to the plant, and by extension, Loki.

Loki watched Steve and replicated the effort, able to slide his right hand free. His left remained stuck and Loki's patience gave way; he rapidly shook his hand, jiggling Steve's connected arm in the effort.

Giving up in his endeavor, Loki reached for his staff the same moment Steve reached for his shield.

"Maybe if I kill you, I'll be free from this," Loki said, pointing his staff at Steve and shooting a blast of pure energy. Steve held up his shield, and the blast deflected into the distance. Angrily, he punched his shield out, satisfied when it hit Loki. The trickster let out a grunt but could only fall back as far as his attached arm would let him.

Loki levied another shot that Steve deflected. Steve didn't want to release his shield at his foe, lest it give Loki an opportunity to get a shot in. They continued trying to kill each other for a few minutes before Steve, behind his shield, said, "This appears to be getting us nowhere." He heard a sound of frustration and lowered his shield slightly to peer over at Loki.

"It would appear not," Loki admitted.

"So what now?" 

Loki lowered his staff. Steve eyed him warily, and still Loki did not answer. It wasn't until Steve could feel the cold fingers of the icy plain slip down his neck that Loki finally said, "You are wise to not trust me, but I suspect that even were I to kill you, it would not rid me of this curse."

"Curse?"

"Indeed. My mother is not as stupid as I was lead to believe. Although she failed to exact an oath from the mistletoe, it would appear she's cursed it all the same."

They stared at one another balefully.

A cold wind kicked up. Steve suddenly became aware of their surroundings. Ice fields lay around them. The snow, unfettered by obstacles, blew with the wind, forming huge dunes that shifted and undulated endlessly. The constellations in the sky were foreign, and even the moon looked strange. Loki shuddered and his skin took on a blue hue.

"Looks like you won't last long out here," Steve smugly observed.

"Fool. This is my true nature." Loki's eyes glowed red, and he scowled at Steve. "I am a Frost Giant, or did my brother not enlighten you?

Steve shrugged. "He just said you were his brother." He paused. "What's a Frost Giant?"

Loki scoffed. "My father stole me from the halls of our enemy. Even my own kind found me too frail for their liking. I suspect it is you who will find this place unforgiving."

Steve tried to appear nonchalant, despite the fear that curled around his soul. "I survived through one freeze. I can do it again."

They both fell silent. Loki glared at the cursed mistletoe, and Steve looked over the ice plains.

"Where are we?" Steve asked, when Loki did not appear to be forthcoming.

"Niflheim," Loki said. When Steve gave him a blank look, Loki sighed in exasperation. "The farthest northern region, on the lowest level of the universe. It is the realm of death and Hel resides here, and so does Nidhogg, the great serpent who eats the corpses and gnaws on the roots of Yggrdrasil."

"On... on a tree?" Steve asked incredibly.

"Do you know nothing?" Loki hissed.

"Not about mythologies of fake religions," Steve returned hotly.

"Of all people in the nine realms, it is you to whom I cursed." Loki sounded petulant.

"Hey buddy, it's a two-way street."

As the snow glanced across his cheeks, he was belatedly grateful that Agent Coulson and SHIELD had decided to upgrade his suit to be more thermogenic. He glanced over at Loki, refusing to look appalled at his enemy, now a deep blue, his red eyes glowing like sullen embers.

Loki tried another futile yank with his arm. He raised his staff, eliciting a "Woah!" from Steve as he brought his shield to bear. Loki glared at him before concentrating on the plant, a beam from his staff enveloping it. The plant glowed a brilliant blue but otherwise was unaffected by the effort. Loki lowered his staff again.

After a moment Steve asked, "So what's your plan now? I bet you didn't see this coming."

"Obviously, I did not," Loki sneered. "We walk," he added, tugging at the plant, and Steve along with it. Steve stood rooted.

"Yeah. Where?"

"There are only two people who can break this curse. One is my mother and we are not visiting her. We will travel to Alfheim instead," Loki said, and if that was defeat Steve heard in Loki's voice, he refused to acknowledge it. "The land of the Light Elves."

"What's there?"

"The Queen of the Elves. Her magic is equal to even that of Lady Frigga. She will be able to break this curse."

"How do we get there?"

"We must find the trunk of Yggdrasil. From there, all worlds are accessible to us. My mother likely intended that whoever grabbed the mistletoe would be killed here, cursed to roam these icy lands until they succumbed."

"I'm not going," Steve stated, proud that he could take a stand on something. He knew a thing or two about dying in icy lands for the good of others.

"I will not die here with you!" Loki declared, his red eyes burning. He set off deliberately, his clawed feet gaining traction in the ice.

Steve dug his feet in and yanked. Loki stumbled.

"Tell me one reason why I should go with you," Steve demanded.

Loki stopped abruptly. He turned on Steve, teeth bared.

"This plant is protected and so long as it lives, so shall we. We will be cursed to wander these fields forever, neither living nor dead, until the end of all days. Our names and faces will fade from the memories of those who knew us, and we, too, will forget our families and companions. Even as all the stars in the universe grows dark, still will we wander. Niflheim existed before even the first god or giant was created, and will exist long after. The workings of the universe cannot touch us here."

A chill that had nothing to do with the air seeped into Steve's bones. He licked his chapped lips.

Steve realized that this is where his cowardice hid. Not in the bloody fields of Germany or the empty cockpit of a doomed plane. Here, where oblivion stretched forward into eternity.

He stumbled forward.

Chapter End

Sorry for the short chapter.


	5. There's a Fork in the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve are trapped.

****

_I must go one standing_

_You can't break that which isn't yours_

_Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs_

_Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your soul_

_Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood_

-Apres Moi by Regina Spektor

Steve had always hated the cold. As a child, he hated the way it burrowed into his lungs for the duration of winter. Any exercise was an ordeal: the sharp cold stabbed him from the inside out when he went to play with the other boys, or when he walked to school.

His father's drinking was worse in the winter. He'd look out at New York's snowy streets, his eyes distant. Even when they'd been rich, he'd drunk heavily during the storms. After they lost everything, it had gotten worse.

"He's remembering, dear," his mother had whispered when Steve asked what he was thinking about. His dad would stand at the window for hours, moving only to stoke the fire. 

In the mornings, his father was always the first to clear the walk. Their neighbors hired people to do it, but Steve's father refused. The scrape of the shovel against the cement woke Steve every time. He'd go downstairs to help, but his father unfailingly steered him back inside, towards the fire, where Steve would sit and cough from the cold.

It wasn't until years later that Steve read up on his father's war and began to have a better appreciation. It was several years after that he'd truly understood.

He could still see Bucky's look of surprise as he plummeted into the icy valley.

He remembered the faces of fallen men, rigid and blue in the snow banks in Germany, dried blood still vivid in the snow around them.

He remembered the impact as his ship hit the frozen ocean. The ship proved true and remained watertight, but it hadn't kept the cold away.

The cold now bit his cheeks and nose and crept into his lungs. He wondered how much longer he could go on.

He chanced a look at his enemy. Loki ignored him.

Their only companion was the crunch of their boots against the permafrost and the howling wind over desolate plains, and Steve had never felt so lonely. The presence of occasional giant snow drifts was the only indication that they were moving. The cold bit into Steve's skin and bones, and they walked until Steve forgot both warmth and comfort.

"So you're the bad apple, eh?" Steve said, because he was tired of the sound of silence. His voice was raw in his throat.

"I am myself," Loki returned. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, tough luck. I'm all you got."

"I would prefer silence," Loki stated proudly.

"I told you before I've fought men like you. There's nothing special about you," Steve said, with more bravado than he felt.

"I am not a man!" Loki roared, turning on Steve. His teeth were fine points, his blue lips thin, and curled around them was a pointed tongue. His red eyes flashed.

"You're not," Steve agreed. "But I've fought monsters before, too. You all die, sooner or later."

Loki, enraged by the remark, took a feverish swing at Steve with his staff ; Steve barely had the time to throw up his shield.

"Hey! We agreed to a truce!"

"You are wretched," Loki said, lowering his staff. "It would be my luck to drag your carcass through this wasteland."

"Don't think I'd be such an easy target."

"You would've been little more than a smear on the ground if your ostentatious friend hadn't shown up in Germany when he did."

"You shouldn't have counted me out just yet."

"I'm a god, you pitiful thing."

"That's blasphemy."

Loki scoffed.

"Show me another who has lived as long as I and who is critical to the end of the world. Only then may we talk about blasphemy. Tell me, human, how many times have you seen this god of yours?"

"I don't need to see him to believe in Him," Steve returned.

"Perhaps not," Loki acknowledged. "And yet, I am here and he is not."

"Your hubris will be your undoing."

"I have long heard this, and yet the sagas swear I will be there at the end, and I will see the death of Odin and your Earth, and everything in between. Where will you be?"

"I will be fighting you," Steve snarled.

"You're foolish and you are the same as every other self-declared hero in the history of men. And just like them, you will die and I will be there to relish in it."

"I have died, and I was mourned. When you die, your people will rejoice."

Loki butted his staff out, low this time, catching Steve below the shield. Using his shield as a battering ram, Steve launched himself at Loki. The two fell to the snow, sinking into the bank. Steve pinned Loki's free arm and elbowed him in the face with their conjoined hand. Blood erupted from Loki's nose, scattering bright across the snow.

Loki grunted, kneeing Steve in the gut. Steve hit him in the fact again, getting a couple of hits in before Loki cold-cocked him with the side of his staff. Steve fell to the side into the bank, trapped by the snow and his tether to Loki.

Loki grinned bloodily, rolling over to pin Steve. "We are in my element. You have no chance."

Steve brought his head up, smashing it into Loki's brow. Loki reeled back and Steve kneed him, pushing him off completely. Loki fell back into the snow next to him.

They both stared up at the stars, multiplied in number.

It was almost warm, in the snow.

"You're not so tough," Steve said, spitting out blood from where he'd accidentally bitten his tongue.

"Were I not so reluctant to haul around a corpse, you would be dead."

"Fine words from the one with the broken nose," Steve said, struggling to his knees. Loki clambered up beside him. Blood poured from his nose, freezing instantly in the cold air to form twin rivers of blood. He gave Steve an appraising look.

"This is folly; we will both die here if we continue this," Loki said as he brushed snow off his clothes.

"Then a real truce, until we're free."

"Until we are free," Loki agreed. "And then I will kill you."

"You can try," Steve said. "But I wouldn't count on it."

"I almost did, before."

"But you didn't."

Loki spat blood on the snow, a bright splatter that marked their passing, and they continued to trudge through the ice fields. Steve wondered how long they had been here. The stars above hadn't moved since their arrival.

"My name is Steve Rogers," Steve offered when he had grown tired of the wind.

Loki lifted a dark brow. "I do not care."

"Maybe," Steve agreed. "And yet, there you have it."

"Indeed," Loki said. Finally, he added, "I am Loki the Trickster God, Master Liesmith and the Silvertongue. My father is Laufey, king of the Jotun, but it is Odin the Allfather who raised me."

"Why?" Steve asked.

Loki looked at him in surprise. "Why should you care?"

Steve shrugged.

Loki looked at him a long moment. "I was born small and my father was sure I would die. After the great war between our people, Odin found me on a rock, exposed to the elements and waiting for my death. He took me back to Asgard to be raised as his own."

"And you hate him," Steve guessed. Loki gave him a withering look.

"You don't know anything," Loki snapped.

"No," Steve agreed. "But a dutiful son wouldn't be hell-bent on destroying his world, either."

"What of you, mortal?" Loki asked after what could have been minutes or hours.

"Steve," Steve said.

"Have you a father awaiting you that you hate?"

"No, I don't."

"Ah, he is already passed."

"Yes."

"Killed in one of your wars?"

"No, after," Steve said shortly.

"An inglorious death, then. You may find him here."

"He's in Heaven. He waits for me. My mother, too."

"All those who do not die from a glorious death wait in Niflheim."

"I don't believe in this mythology of yours," Steve said through cold teeth.

"Here we walk, Steve Rogers, and yet you do not believe. It is a curious ability, peculiar to your race."

"You say that, but Thor loves you and swears your parents do too. You live with that love every day and you deny it. Perhaps it is an ability peculiar to your race as well."

"Frost giant," Loki corrected. His brows furrowed. "You presume to know me."

"I know you're an ass, is what I know," Steve said. "But your brother is great and honest and if he says he loves you, I believe him."

Loki sneered. "Thor is simple. Do not speak of things you do not understand."

"Then don't talk to me about my parents being in this wasteland of yours," Steve snapped back.

"I will say what I want," Loki said snidely. Steve shot him a look and they fell silent again, the wind and ice glancing across Steve's ears and nose until he felt sure he would never feel them again. He began to worry that despite hours of effort, they had not moved. The landscape remained unchanged. Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps this was hell and he was doomed to wander the ice fields with his wretched companion forever.

As they walked, the memories of Steve's life were slowly drowned out by his dreams from when he was frozen. He had told SHIELD he remembered nothing from his time in the ice, but that hadn't been true.

Steve dreamed. For seventy years, he dreamed. In every waking moment he sought to forget those dreams, and in repairing Stark Tower with Welles and watching movies and talking to JARVIS, he had mostly succeeded. Although he had never admitted it, he'd been loathe to sleep, in part, because he was afraid of dreaming.

He dreamed he had returned to Peggy and taken her dancing at the Ritz. At the end of the night, he'd asked her to marry him and she'd accepted.

He spent thirty years in the Army and picked up General. He had three kids: two boys and a girl.

He dreamed about Bucky, watching him fall over and over. No matter how Steve fought his opponent, no matter how hard Steve grasped, Bucky always fell.

He dreamed of Bucky's frozen corpse, a misshapen thing, back broken and mouth gaped open.

In Steve's dreams, his nightmares walked.

They walked now.

Steve's breathing came ragged and he pulled at Loki.

"We gotta run," he said, eyes wild. Loki gave him an exasperated look.

"From what?"

"They're here."

"Who's here?" Loki asked, his tone the same as when he spoke to Thor, but he chanced a looked across the empty plains.

"The dead," Steve breathed.

It was the dead of all those killed in any war. They trudged towards them, their forms rigid and frozen and hideous. Loki had been wrong; all dead waited here. They waited for him.

Loki used his free hand to shake Steve's shoulder. "Concentrate," he demanded. "Look at me."

Steve swung his gaze towards Loki. The dark red broke through his hallucinations. He sought to calm himself, forcing his breathing to regulate. Panic fluttered in his chest and caught in his throat.

"The things you see are in your mind. Focus on me, if you must, but focus, damn you, or we will be lost forever. These are the hallucinations of the ice fields. When you succumb, you are cursed to these fields. We venture to the trunk of Yggdrasil where we will be free."

Steve nodded numbly, forced his eyes shut, and when he opened them, his nightmares were gone. He focused his mind on their mission, cursing himself for showing weakness to his enemy.

They walked.

After a while, Steve noticed a faint flicker out of the corner of his eye. Whenever he tried to focus on it, it was gone. Steve tried to pass it off as snow blindness, but when it persisted, he focused again on Loki.

The frost giant was beautiful, in his own terrible way. His skin was a deep hue, his black hair crystallized in ice. Those horrible eyes reminded him of dying embers in a forgotten fire.

"I see them too," Loki said, interrupting Steve's thoughts.

"Who?" Steve asked.

"Corpse lights. It is the souls of the lost, seeking to trick us off our course. But they cannot fool me. I am the master trickster."

"And where are you taking us? It seems we haven't gotten anywhere," Steve demanded.

Loki caught him in his eyes. "To our freedom," he sneered.

"You say that, and yet it seems we haven't moved."

"If you have someone else to trust that you are bound to, then by all means, follow him. Otherwise, shut up."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"It is not I who was deluded by figments of my imagination," Loki pointed out.

"That's true," Steve said. "You have to have a soul before you can be afraid of something."

Loki scowled.

"You state things as if they are truth; and yet, you are nothing and you know nothing."

"I know love. That counts for something."

Loki scoffed. "It counts for nothing."

"You deny your family's love. Thor often speaks of saving you, and you ignore him," Steve said. He was exhausted. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been walking in these icy fields. The troubles of Bucky and Peggy and World War II belonged to another man, like a story he'd heard once in a bar.

"He is a cur. He would love anyone."

"But he loves you," Steve persisted. It became incredibly important to him that Loki admitted this. He could his feel his memories fading, but Thor stood broad and sure in them. If only Loki could acknowledge it, Steve was convinced they could be free of this wasteland. The wind kicked up around them.

"Maybe," Loki said after a long time. "But I have never been as worthy in my father's eyes."

"I remember my father, but not well," Steve admitted.

"Why do you persist in trying to befriend me?" 

"He drank himself to death," Steve continued. "If he loved my mother and I, he wouldn't have abandoned us. Living is hard," Steve said, unsure why he was telling Loki this. He realized he couldn't remember what his parents looked like.

His parents suddenly stood beside him, looking at him accusingly with formless faces. In a gust of wind, they stood as tall shadows in his mind, and they were Sorrow and Broken Dreams.

"Nothing I have ever done has been good enough for my father," Loki admitted, irritated, as though the words betrayed him. "I sought a war to win his approval."

"You were good enough for him as you were. Maybe it was the deceitful man you became that he disliked."

Loki turned rapidly on Steve, his eyes burning. "What do you know about such things?"

"I know what it is to have a dream bigger than yourself," he said. It wasn't what he had wanted to say, but the words slipped from his mouth unbidden.

"If anyone should be asking forgiveness, it is him," Loki said bitterly. And Steve realized that Loki the Liesmith could not lie in this land.

They walked.

Steve wondered that maybe he had never been freed from the ice. Perhaps this was another wretched dream. Being freed had only ever been a trick of his dying mind.

The tears froze on his face.

"Thor is not smart, but his heart is large and he loves all who should enter his life. I am not worthy of it," Loki suddenly declared, looking pained at his confession.

"I have forgotten my mother," Steve said brokenly. "There was also a woman, once, who I loved with all the love I could give. And I can't remember her name."

Loki turned and gave Steve a piercing look. "We walk in lands no mortal was ever meant to walk. I have hated my family these many years, but I cannot remember why. Yet it burns in me, like the coals of a fire. I do not know love as you knew it. Her name was Peggy."

"Peggy," he repeated, holding the name close to his heart. He wondered how Loki knew it.

He suspected there wasn't much that could be kept secret between them in this icy waste.

He sought to recall Peggy's face and couldn't. But she stood there, and she was Love. His shadows followed him.

"What is your name?" Loki asked after an age, when Steve began to think that he was snow, and he had always been snow.

"Steve," he recalled through frozen lips. "I am Steve Rogers."

But he could not remember anything that came before or after him, and his name began to fade from memory.

"Steve Rogers," Loki said, and Steve was himself again, a cold man, trudging through the snow plains. "I will remember you."

"And you?"

"I am Loki Laufey, of the House of Odin."

"Loki Laufey, of the House of Odin. I will remember you."

And for a while, Steve and Loki walked amongst the snow fields, and tried to remember one another as best they could.

"I remember," Steve said.

"What do you remember?" Loki asked, his voice desperate and thin.

"I remember when I was a frail little boy. I would have been a frail boy forever had a doctor not saved me. But even when he made me a great man, I couldn't save my friends."

"What was the doctor's name?" Loki asked.

"I don't remember."

And the doctor stood beside him, and he was Hope. He joined the other shadows.

They walked over icy fields and under barren trees, silver limbs spindly and crooked.

"I don't remember," Loki said.

"What?" Steve asked, or meant to say, but he had forgotten how to form words.

But Loki knew.

"Anything. I don't remember anything."

"I remember Peggy," Steve said. "And Thor and Tony, Natasha and Clint, and a man who was a monster but also the smartest man I've ever known. His name was Bruce. And you," Steve continued, determined, "are Loki, Son of Laufey, of the House of Odin, and your brother loves you as much as any man can love another."

As Steve spoke the names of his teammates, their faces faded. And they became Determination, and Pride, Solitude, Cleverness, and Rage but also Intelligence. They were tall shadows that followed Steve, even as he willed them away.

"I am Loki," Loki said. "Steve Rogers," he prompted, "tell me of your friends. My brother, I think, had many. The Warriors Three. They suffered me, for I was his relation. I do not remember them well. There was one, a woman, whose hair I stole."

And so Steve told him what he could, of the tall shadows that followed them, but whose faces he could not remember.

"You were another man, once," Steve said when he was done. "With green eyes."

The visage that had been Loki's human form faded, and he walked beside them and he was Envy.

"I do not remember," Loki said, stricken.

And Steve couldn't, either.

They became the wind, howling across a wasteland. They were the snow, gathered in banks and scattered across fields of ice. They were frozen, trapped in the plains they walked.

After the greatest length of time the man once called Steve had ever endured, they arrived at a door.

They paused at it.

"This was our goal," the creature once called Loki said, but he sounded unsure.

The shadows shuffled around Steve impatiently. They gathered at the door.

"It would be easier to drift here forever, no responsibilities," the shadow called Sorrow said. "You have already suffered so much. None would begrudge you."

"There is everything to be learned should you go through," the shadow called Intelligence said. "You'll go places no man has ever seen."

"And you would be the greatest," the shadow called Pride said, excited. "To see the things no man was meant to see."

"There are those waiting for you," the shadow called Determination said. "You must go through that door."

"There are great things behind that door, but also terrible things," the shadow called Broken Dreams said, and Steve knew that this shadow spoke truest of all. "But you will regret most of all if you never try."

"But I am afraid," he told his tall shadows, "that I will go through those doors and none will remember me."

"Even if we are no longer there, we will remember who we you were," the shadow called Love said. "And that is better than never being remembered at all."

"The greatest horror any mortal should ever witness is being forgotten," the shadow called Solitude said.

Steve pulled a great metallic item from his back. He knew it, once. He held it forward.

"Loki, son of Laufey of the House of Odin, we must break through that door."

"I do not want to."

Conflicted red eyes pierced his own, and Loki was a little boy, with eyes too large for his face. The tiny boy looked up at Steve, his brows furrowed in worry. He was frail and small, and he reminded Steve of himself.

Steve knelt and placed an icy hand on Loki's shoulder.

"We are loved, and we cannot be forgotten. We must go or we will be lost."

Loki regarded him with wide eyes. "I am afraid of what I might remember."

"It doesn't matter," Steve said.

"I do not remember those that wait for me, but I fear they will not be happy to see me."

"But I will be," Steve said solemnly.

And he knew there was a reason, once, when he wouldn't be happy to have Loki beside him. But he could not remember why.

They pushed through the door.


	6. There's a Fork in the Road

  
_Ten silver spoons coming after me,_  
One life with one dream on repeat,  
I’ll escape if I try hard enough 

_“ We are the spoons,” they’re telling me_  
“We scooped our way into your dreams,  
To knock the knives out bloody cold,  
and lead you down the unforsaken road.”  
-Mowgli’s Road by Mariana and the Diamonds

The door opened to a beautiful, lush world with patches of blue sky visible above the green canopy of a virgin forest. Dappled sunlight trailed through emerald leaves, creating a mosaic of shifting gold on the mossy ground. Bird song, a cool whisper of wind, and the cry of crickets intertwined into a brilliant song. Until now, Steve hadn’t realized how horrific the brittle ice fields were. The cold would take everything and leave nothing, if it could.

Loki, now in the form of his human body, stood linked beside him. His green eyes carried a sorrow Steve had seen in his shell-shocked soldiers. It was the look of a man who had witnessed terrible things.

Steve wondered briefly why Loki wore it now before turning his attention to the great tree trunks and loamy earth. The air smelled soft and sweet, the fragrance of rot and spring. Though the leaves stirred far above their heads, the air sat heavy around them.

To his great relief, Steve realized his memories had returned. He remembered his friends. He remembered Peggy’s face. He pulled out his broken compass and saw her gazing back up at him. Steve had seen her picture so many times that he wondered how he could ever have forgotten. He gazed at her a moment longer, closed the compass with a click, and slipped it back into his breast pocket.

“Where are we?” Steve finally asked.

“We are in Alfheim, the land of Elves,” Loki said. “Be cautious here. Your dreams are reality and the Elves deceive better than I. Be wary of their glamour.” 

“Why are you warning me?”

“You remembered who I was, even when I could not,” came the reluctant admission. “I owe you a debt.”

Laughter chimed around them.

“They approach,” Loki warned.

Movement caught Steve’s attention. His body prepared for a fight, but both his muscles and mind relaxed when he spotted the two exquisite creatures waltzing towards them.

“Who are you?” a female asked. Her hair was the gold of a late summer day; her eyes the deep blue of a South Pacific sea; her face ageless. She wore flowing silks of earthy browns and greens, and beneath the tunic was a fine, limber body.

“We are but humble travelers,” Loki dipping his head to his chest, “seeking the honor of your queen.”

“I know who you are,” The male said with a grin. His hair was the brown of the forest ground, almost muddy. His eyes were the bright green of a spring leaf. His face was broad, defined muscles visible beneath an unremarkable earthy tunic. His were a stark contrast against that of his friend. “You are Loki, Son of Laufey, House of Odin, and Master Liesmith. You are welcome here.” He grinned mischievously, but his expression grew dark when he turned to Steve. “The mortal is not. He does not know deceit.”

“He is with me,” Loki quickly declared, pulling his arm, and Steve, closer.

The male Elf hummed, eyebrows raised. “A lover?” 

“A traveling companion,” Loki said evenly.

“An equal of Loki the Silvertongue?” the male asked, eyeing Steve. “But you do not think so, do you, companion?”

“We travel together,” Steve reiterated, choosing not to address the question. 

The Elf’s smile became wry. “You are handsome and Loki may corrupt you yet. Or he may not. Either way, it should be interesting. You may continue.” He stepped aside and extended his arm.

“But beware,” the female said as they passed, “all that you see may not be so welcoming.”

They shouldered past the pair. Once Steve was sure they were past hearing, he whispered, “Who were they?”

“Simple guardians of the gate.”

“They’re beautiful,” Steve confided.

“They are terrible,” Loki corrected. “They appear as they wish you to see them.”

Alfheim, Steve decided, was the loveliest place he’d ever seen. Soft music filled the air wherever they went. Brooks ran through the land, clear water sparkling in unseen sunbeams. Steve suddenly realized he was incredibly thirsty. He said as much to his companion.

“You cannot take anything from this land,” Loki said. “No foodstuff nor water nor anything offered to you. If you do, you will ever remain a servant of the Elves with no free will to call your own.”

Steve recoiled from the water.

“What is that music? Are we close to... the kingdom of the queen?” he asked, to take his mind off his thirst.

“You hear the trees,” Loki curtly explained. “In this realm, everything sings. The song is never ending.”

“I’ve never heard anything like it,” Steve admitted.

“Nor have I,” Loki said. He looked at Steve with wide green eyes as realization came to him. “I cannot shield myself from you,” he said, and appeared embarrassed to have even admitted that.

“Me either.” Steve wasn’t happy by that prospect.

“My mother is perhaps wiser than I gave her credit for,” Loki muttered cryptically before falling silent.

As they meandered through the realm of Elves, Steve found he was grateful for the change of scenery. Despite Loki’s warning, he couldn’t help but feel they were safer here than in the realm of ice. His memories were recalled with ease. He was no longer afraid of losing his sense of self. He concentrated on the trees’ song, trying to hum it. It was a song he never wanted to forget. Just as he felt he’d memorized the melody, he noticed a deeply discordant sound.

Beside him, Loki raised his staff. Steve didn’t need to be told to bring his shield to bear.

The ground shook beneath him. 

“A Nightmare!” Loki spat, moments before a monstrous horse thundered into the glade. Its coat was coal-black, made worse by the flames that burned where its eyes should have been. It breathed a gust of fire and reared back on massive legs.

“Do we fight?” Steve asked, body tense.

“Fight,” Loki confirmed as he aimed his staff at the creature. Steve launched his shield at its brow. The horse recoiled as the shield hit true, but immediately turned back to retaliate with a heavy breath of black flames. The shield rebounded just in time for Steve to hold it up, protecting he and Loki from the burst.

Steve tried to roll away behind a tree before the next attack. Loki remained steadfast, the blue light of his staff meeting the horse’s black flames mid-air. A sputtering flame reached the mistletoe between them. The plant glowed but was otherwise unaffected.

“We need to move!” Steve said. “Achieve a more strategic position!”

“I would never expect you to cower!” Loki snapped, punctuating his insult with another burst of magic. The Nightmare dodged it and snorted, pawing the ground with steel hooves. The beast charged. Steve yanked Loki down beside him and thrust his shield up. Hot, black flames curled around the edges as the monster grew closer.

“Shoot at my command!”

“I don’t take orders from you!” 

“Just listen to me,” Steve demanded. “Or you’ll get us both killed!”

To Steve’s surprise, Loki complied. They stood together against the beast. Steve studied the way it moved and waited for the right time to strike. When he saw its muscles tense and the fire grow in its eyes, he knew their opportunity had come.

“Now!” Steve shouted. He kept his shield up as Loki blasted the creature, catching the Nightmare in its maw. It reeled back, coughing and snorting from the magic. Loki shot again, scorching the Nightmare in its side. It snorted at them one last time before thundering off through the glade.

Steve turned on Loki. “I don’t know about your battle experience,” he said, “but you had an entire alien army at your command and still lost to a group of six. And do you know who was in charge of them? Me. So when I give you a command, you better listen. I’ve fought worse odds and won.”

“I’m a god,” Loki said defensively. “I know a thing or two about war.”

“So you say,” Steve agreed, “but your tactics are clumsy.”

Loki scowled. He sullenly began walking; Steve, equally nettled, decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He allowed Loki to lead the way.

The Nightmare had made Steve realize this world wasn’t quite the haven it pretended to be. He cursed himself for his complacency. He knew better than to let his guard down in an alien place.

After what could have been only a few feet or several miles, Loki began dragging behind. Steve’s arm noticed the weight before his brain did. He pulled them to a stop, where he saw that Loki had become even paler than usual.

“Did that thing wound you?”

“It is nothing,” Loki argued. He tried to venture on, but Steve would have none of it. He turned so that Loki was facing him and began to examine the god’s right arm. It was limp and festering, small black flames curling around an open wound. Steve’s eyes widened and he shot Loki a look. Leave it to Loki to lie about everything—even his own injuries. 

“It is nothing,” Loki repeated.

“It’s on fire!” Steve said. He batted at the flames. Loki howled in pain and jerked back.

“It is the consuming flames of the Nightmare,” he hissed. “It cannot be put out!”

Steve eyed Loki’s cape before coming to a decision. He pulled out a knife from his pocket and quickly dipped down next to Loki. Using one arm, Steve awkwardly cut out a long patch of the cloth. Loki twisted away.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to patch it up.”

“It can’t be healed. You are wasting your effort.”

“I can try,” Steve said stubbornly.

“You’re an idiot,” Loki said, though his words held no anger.

“Are you friendless because you deliberately try to be an asshole?” Steve asked as he grabbed Loki’s arm and delicately wrapped the wound. “Hold it here,” Steve said, indicating the wound with a nod of his head. “I’ve only got one hand to work with.”

“I am friendless because they make one weak,” Loki returned, gingerly clasping the cloth against his skin.

“They make you stronger,” Steve countered, wrapping the bandage around Loki’s arm. Blood immediately seeped through and black flames licked at the dressing. “And they keep you from being stupid,” he added as he finished the bandage with a loose knot.

Loki pulled his arm away. “These flames will not die. I fear I will soon be of no use to you. They will consume me until everything I see embodies my nightmares. When they have consumed me, my soul will be lost here, forfeit to the creatures of this realm. Our time is running short.”

“What are we looking for?”

“A willow tree,” Loki said.

“A willow tree!” Steve repeated, scanning the area around them. “There are trees everywhere!” But they were all oak and maple and beech and other great trees common to the forest. There were trees Steve had never seen before, but he knew he wouldn’t find a willow tree here.

The forest, previously a haven, now seemed infinite and Steve knew they had to clear it to get Loki to safety. A part of him wondered when he’d started caring about this belligerent man; a bigger part of him was wondering how much time he had left, and, if he failed, what would happen if Loki became a monster while still attached to him.

“You will know this tree,” Loki interrupted his thoughts. 

“If you say so,” Steve said. “But we’ve got a ways to go, so you better not plan on passing out anytime soon. I expect more from you.”

“I am not so weak,” Loki scowled. “Don’t give me your pep talks.”

They continued walking, Steve quickening the pace. The forest no longer appeared quite as beautiful as before. The trees loomed too tall and there was an eerie chord beneath the encompassing melody that had always been there; he just hadn’t recognized it.

“I can’t see how you made it this long,” Loki said as they walked. “You’re so guileless. How does one as innocent and stupid as you endure?”

Steve glanced at Loki. He smiled wryly. “Being frozen helps.”

“I know of your war. It was not for the weak.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Steve agreed soberly. “Have you fought in a war? A real war. Not that thing where you attacked Manhattan. That was a skirmish, at best.”

“No,” Loki finally confessed. “Odin did. He sought to protect us from one.”

“For good reason. If you had, you would not be so eager for a new one. The only people who seek combat are those who have never seen it.”

“You should have this conversation with my brother,” Loki sneered. “He seeks to prove his bravery. He nearly brought us to arms against the frost giants.”

“But it was you who tried to murder all of New York. You brought a battalion of floating monsters to Manhattan and we defeated you. But you killed thousands of civilians in the process,” Steve pointed out, anger sitting deep in his belly. “Did you earn the accolades you wanted?”

“You understand nothing,” Loki snapped.

“I understand war. You itched for a massacre. If we hadn’t been there—”

“If you hadn’t been there, I would’ve taken your New York without a fight and no one would have died!” 

“If you think humans give up without a fight, then you don’t know us very well. Without the Avengers, you would’ve killed more. We would have sent everything we had at you. Our leaders were ready to bomb the city to kill you. The blood of millions on your hands and for what?” 

“I didn’t seek their deaths.”

Steve wheeled on Loki. “What the hell did you think would happened when you attacked us? That we would just kneel before you and say, ‘All hail Loki?’ My war was spent fighting a man exactly like you, so don’t think—”

“I am no man!” 

“You act like the worst humanity has to offer!”

“I loathe you,” Loki sneered.

“Fine,” Steve said. “The sentiment is returned. But you should know, Hitler never could have won, and neither could you.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if you can’t love your own people, then you can never lead them. You will always be rebelled against. Intimidation only takes you so far.”

“You are tiresome,” Loki said. “Save your preaching for someone else.”

Steve glared at Loki a moment longer before he turned and pulled on their bond, yanking Loki after him. Loki caught up, but if he stumbled occasionally, Steve pointedly ignored it.

They walked for hours in silence, the shadows growing deeper around them. But as the sun began to set and the forest grew darker, Steve realized Loki was starting to drag behind again.

“Loki?”

Loki was grabbing at things Steve couldn’t see.

“My dreams,” Loki said deliriously. “I’ve almost got them. Just a little farther.”

Steve shook his arm to try and snap Loki out of it, but Loki merely looked at him with cloudy eyes and said, giddily, “I’m so close. All the world is at my grasp.”

Steve felt the impatience flee from him. 

“ _Loki_ ,” he repeated, but his companion was unresponsive, reaching into the empty air.

As night fell, Loki lost consciousness. He groaned, but whether from his nightmares or from pain, Steve didn’t know. He wondered if he could just saw through their bond with his knife, leaving Loki to deal with the nightmares on his own.

After a moment, Steve hoisted Loki in an awkward fireman’s carry and pushed on. He carefully traced his steps under the silver beams that mercifully leaked through the dark canopy.

He came upon a wall of trees. Perturbed, Steve turned to go back and locate a better path, only to find another vanguard of trees stood behind him where none had been before.

“Soldier boy, soldier boy, far from home are you!” the wall sang.

“I need to find a willow tree,” Steve said, no longer startled by things like talking foliage. “And your queen.”

“Willow tree!” the wall chanted, a million voices joining into one. “And what makes you worthy of our queen?”

“I come seeking truth.”

The wall laughed. “Yellow is the color my true love’s crossbow, the color of the sun!”

“What?” Steve asked uncertainly. He felt heat kiss his skin and saw a dancing light in the corner of his eye. Reluctantly, he turned.

A massive fire burned before him. It glowed red and bright and although it did not consume the trees, it grew larger even as Steve watched. 

“Loki, wake up!” he bellowed, unceremoniously dropping the delirious man in favor for his shield. He blocked the flames just in time. 

Loki’s free hand grabbed at something unseen.

“You are worth your weight in gold, Steve Rogers. You are worth your weight in sorrow,” Loki dreamily said.

Steve threw up his shield again as the wall spit a second stream of flames.

“Loki!” Steve yelled. Nazis, he could get. Red Skull, no problem. But this strange world, he did not understand. It was as terrible as it was beautiful.

Loki was drawing squares in the loam beneath him.

Steve yanked Loki to his feet and threw his shield towards the wall to afford them a moment’s protection. He watched in dismay as it was engulfed by the flames and, for the first time, failed to return to him.

He had lost his only defense. Steve shouldered Loki again and began to run. The trees separated for him.   
The fire followed.

They ran over forested hills and through another valley, Steve not tiring even as he felt the heat of the pursuing fire.

They ran until Steve found a river. Without thinking twice, he dove into its frothy depths. The fire, fitful that it had lost the chase, remained at the shore. 

The rapid current carried Steve and Loki downstream.

* * *

The river was moving faster than Steve could’ve guessed, and he struggled to keep both himself and Loki afloat. Even more difficult was ensuring Loki didn’t swallow anything. At some point, they hit a rough patch of rapids; Steve frantically spit out the resulting mouthful of water.

Even with the dive into the river, he could see the black flames still licked at Loki’s arm. It had burned away the bandage and spread to his shoulder. They were close enough to curl at Loki’s long hair.

“Down, down, down,” Loki said from his position on Steve’s shoulders.

Steve didn’t want to guess as to what that might mean, but part of him already knew. In the distance, the river abruptly dropped away. He struggled to make it to shore, and for a brief, thrilling second, Steve managed to latch onto a rock outcropping—but the current, combined with Loki’s dead weight, yanked him from his safe harbor.

They careened over the falls.

A/N  
The Nightmare is a shoutout to Neil Gaiman

“The Hooves made of steel” is in reference to a favorite song of mine, “Ghost Riders in  
the Sky” written by Stan Jones and made famous by Johnny Cash.

There’s also some song quotes by Elvis Perkins from his song Shampoo thrown in.  
“You are worth your weight in your gold, you are worth your weight in sorrow.”


	7. Once in a lifetime will the undoing of two souls be so easy to do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has to make a deal

Ships are launching from my chest

Some have names but most do not

If you find one, please let me know what piece I've lost

-"Welcome Home, Son"

Radical Face

Clear blue water frothed around Steve. He tumbled with the turning water, feeling like a shirt in a heavy wash in one of those new machines Pepper had shown him how to use. Every time he thought he almost reached the surface, the tumultuous waters pushed him back down.

The world spun. He could see the river bottom, rocky and forbidding. Colorful fish darted past him, catching the rays of the sun and refracting them a million ways. If it was the last thing he would see, Steve thought absently, it would not be a bad thing.

A woman with slitted eyes regarded him coldly before flitting off in a rush of bubbles.

A mermaid?!

He ignored the diversion, struggling with Loki. Finding purchase on the stony river bottom, he pushed himself up. It was almost too far away and he wondered what would happen if he breathed water. He had never drowned before, but he had seen the icy ocean outside the windows of his doomed cockpit.

He might not die, but Loki might.

Just when he thought it was too long, his lungs aching in complaint, he broke the surface. The rush of air into his lungs immediately relieved the tightness in his chest. He chanced a look at Loki. Although the flames continued to burn against his skin, his lips were paler than usual, his skin gray and clammy, and he wasn't breathing.

Steve pulled them both to the rocky shore with great strokes. He cursed Loki's outlandish costume-the cape was an anchor that caught on every wayward branch or stone outcropping.

The river eddied and swirled around him but had given up her victims, and he reached the rocky banks easily. He dragged them up out of the water, and immediately laid Loki on his back. Checking for a heartbeat-and finding one, weak and thready, but there, Steve awkwardly folded his hands over Loki's chest.

Was his heart in the same place? He'd never thought to wonder about Frost Giant physiology.

He began his compressions, ignoring the sick sound of cartilage cracking under the applied weight. Loki would be bruised and sore when he woke, but it would be a small complaint to add to a growing list of worries. If Steve couldn't figure out how to cure Loki from his poison, all his work would be for naught.

Pausing his hands over Loki's chest, he briefly considered if allowing his enemy to die would be a kindness. But he was pretty sure the man would still lose his soul to this place, and as much as he disliked him, he couldn't allow himself to let Loki die—to become trapped here.

Just as Steve was beginning to lose hope, Loki gave a great, wheezing gasp of air. He rolled onto his side and expelled river water from his lungs with great, wracking coughs that dissolved into dry heaves. Resting for a moment on his side, the black fire curling around his wound and down his back, Loki slowly sat up. Steve helped him with firm hands even as Loki protested.

Loki gripped Steve's free wrist with his bad arm, wincing at the movement. Steve stilled, his eyes meeting Loki's and finding them pained but lucid. Emotions warred on Loki's face, confusion finally winning, his eyebrows knit together in consternation. "Why?" He asked hoarsely. "I would have let you die."

"I don't like you," Steve said and pried his wrist free from Loki's grasp. "But I'd hate myself if I let you die here. I would be no better than you."

"You aren't any better than me," Loki hissed.

Steve's rejoinder died on his lips as Loki slumped against him weakly with a groan through clenched teeth as the flames began crawling down his good arm. Holding Loki awkwardly in his arms, Steve looked up into the canopy. Even this close to the river, the night sky was still covered by the virgin forest. It was just as well. He wouldn't recognize any of the constellations, anyway. There was something discomfiting about looking up at the night sky and not knowing the stars; it made a place truly alien.

Through some grace, however, slivers of moon peeked through the boughs, providing light in the otherwise black night.

"Hold it together," Steve told Loki. He carefully positioned the man over his shoulder again, catching a look at Loki's face in the process. His eyes had glazed over in delirium.

"Beware the Moon," Loki warned. "He comes unbidden. He knows where you live."

Steve sighed and pulled himself to his feet, yanking Loki up with him. He knew enough about Alfheim to know that dallying would only worsen their situation. His muscles complained with the effort, and he realized for the first time just how drained he must be. He couldn't remember any time since his transformation that he'd felt so exhausted.

Steve pulled Loki into a fireman's carry and he didn't know where he was going, but he figured he'd get somewhere eventually. He made his way along the river bank, careful of his footing as stones rolled and slid underneath. Unlike most rivers he'd seen, this one was absent of the rampant undergrowth that usually made navigating the banks impossible.

The night was alive with the songs of evening birds and insects. Intertwined was the harmony of the trees and the sky, and the stones beneath his feet, a faint bass that thrummed with each step.

As the night deepened, Steve noticed the slivers of moon peeking through the trees were growing brighter. They gathered with each step until it was as though he was walking in a pool of silver light.

He pulled up abruptly as the light shifted and built in shape until the moon beams formed an eerily beautiful man. His face was a perfect oval, his eyes black save for the sparkle of stars in them. His hair fell in silver waves around his shoulders and glowed moonlight. He wore a simple tunic that appeared to be made of liquid silver. It rippled like a strip of moonlight reflected against still water.

"Dear Steve Rogers," He said, and his voice was the night wind. "Where do you go in such a hurry?"

"I am in search of the Queen of Elves," Steve said, shifting Loki's weight on his back.

"She is a trial," The Moon said with a sly smile. "Better to spend your time with me."

When Steve was a child, his mother had read Grimm's fairy tales to him. It was the stories from before Disney went in and made them appropriate to children, and the Moon spoke much as the characters in those stories had. Steve knew he had to phrase his words carefully.

"Loki," Steve shrugged his dead weight, "said I ought to seek her out. She is the best way home."

And home with all its sorrow seemed very far away.

The Moon smiled handsomely. "I can lead you there. You can trust my arc across the sky. But you might find that, should you decide to stay, you would be well met. You would want for nothing. An eternity of endless, clear nights."

"That may be," Steve said, a chill sweeping through him, "And I thank you for your offer, but I must find her. My friend," Steve stumbled over the word, "said she is in a willow tree."

"She's like that," The Moon agreed. He shifted his weight and produced a silver fruit to Steve. "You have many miles to go. Take this, to aid you on your travels. You have not eaten in a long time."

Steve remembered Loki's warning, even as his stomach rumbled. He considered for a moment, wondering what the Moon would do if he refused. After a moment's consideration, he held out his hand. The Moon dropped the fruit in it with a sly smile.

"Thank you," Steve said, again shifting Loki's weight on his back. He wondered when the man had grown so heavy.

"The pleasure is mine," The Moon smiled, "Truly. I will be here when you change your mind." Steve forced a smile around clenched teeth. He missed Natasha, who always had a way with words, and Thor, who would at least know what was going on.

"Follow my arc across the sky. If you stay true, in the morning, you shall find her. She waits in a field beside a brook, not unlike this one. You will know her when you see her. As long as you stay on my path, you shall be protected as long as it pleases me."

Steve bowed slightly, remaining bent until the moon faded. When he raised his head, he realized he could see a path where none had been before. It looked well-worn, free of brush and rocks. Hesitating just for a moment, wondering if he should trust the Moon and realizing he didn't have a choice, he set out down it.

In the brightened silver light, Steve could see the reflected eyes of things waiting in the forest. They did not broach his path. Steve looked up at the moon peeking through the branches and wondered the game it was playing. He wasn't foolish enough to believe he had acted out of altruism, but wasn't familiar enough with this world to understand the alternative motives of the creatures here. The uncertainty set his teeth on edge. Give him Red Skull, give him Hydra. They were evil and powerful, but he always knew where he stood with them.

After several hours of walking through the forest, Steve's hunger became overwhelming. His knees were going weak, his head fuzzy, and he wondered how long it had been since he had last eaten. He'd had a protein bar on the jet ride to Lithuania. It seemed like a very long time ago. Steve knew enough about physiology to know his body would start consuming his muscles once it had run out of food stores.

"Loki?" Steve prompted.

Loki muttered something about black rainbows.

"Loki?" Steve asked again.

"Oh Death, won't you spare me over another?" Loki asked solemnly.

Steve felt fear spike in him, afraid of Loki's delusions. He hadn't been entirely honest with Loki; saving his life was also a tactical decision. He didn't know the way home. If Loki died, he'd be trapped here forever.

He quickened his pace and ignored his hunger.

Steve made it another couple of miles, breaking through the forest and into a grassy plain. Silver moonflowers tinkling up at him before he sank to his knees, the soft grass spongy and giving. His hunger dogged him. He had never felt so starved, not after several battles in the field, and not even the day he woke up after seventy years incased in ice.

He fingered the silver fruit and looked up at the moon.

Surely, one bite wouldn't hurt.

Steve lifted it up to his mouth. Just as his teeth had closed around it, the taste of juice leaking into his mouth, Loki struggled violently on his shoulders and swiped it from his hand.

"No!" Loki shouted, eyes fever-bright and wide. The fruit bounced to the ground, rolling several feet.

Steve flung Loki from his shoulders, an irrational anger consuming him. "What was that for?!"

Loki landed on the dewy grass, his breath forced out of him. He looked up at Steve with liquid emerald eyes, mouth drawn in a tight line. Steve's fists clenched unconsciously by his side and he was overwhelmed by the desire to hurt this man in front of him.

Gritting his teeth and trying to will away the anger and the hunger and the fear that dogged him, Steve was about to rebuke Loki for his actions when his arm flopped limply, a pale finger indicating the fallen fruit.

The once silver, ripe fruit had become rotten and worm-ridden. Maggots fell onto the earth around it, staining the grass black. The rot spread, creating a circumference of foul death around it.

Steve recoiled in horror. Shame rolled over him. He had wanted to hit this man, to hurt him, and Loki, injured and poisoned, had saved his life. Running a sweaty palm through mussed hair, he tried to catch Loki's eyes.

"I'm sorry." He said, ashamed.

"This world is poison," Loki said, his eyes rolling back into his head.

The black fire had moved further down his back and was edging down his arm, closer to the mistletoe and their shared connection. Curiously, pale skin, uncharred or blistered was apparent under the flames

He glanced back at the fruit. It was eating its way into the ground, the dirt bubbling around it like tar in a pit. A foul odor arouse, staining the pure air. As it bubbled and tore at the life around it, it made the sound of knife against glass, cutting through the pure melody of the world. Steve shuddered.

It would have been a bad way to die. Loki could have let him die a thousand times before this one. He considered his partner.

He wanted to hate the man, tried to convince himself Loki was playing games, even now, but his face was twisted in pain even in unconsciousness. Occasional whimpers escaped his thin-lipped mouth as the fire spread down his spine. Steve wondered how long it would take for it to consume his companion; knew that his life depended on Steve's success. Steve wondered what nightmares chased him.

He thought he was probably better off not knowing.

"I am sorry, Loki, Son of Lauefy. I owe you my life," Steve told the demigod. Loki gave no indication that he'd heard.

Still angry at himself, he stooped to pick up Loki. Manning his burden, he glanced up across the rolling plains. In the distance, he saw a glow in the field. The warm light beckoned him and he briefly considered heading towards it. He could hear the faint sound of fiddles and dancing rising from the circle—were those mushrooms?—and it looked like tiny fairies and other creatures were delighting in the evening air.

He thought of the corpse candles in Niflheim and decided traversing off the path wouldn't bode well, regardless of the promises of warmth and food and happiness. He'd let his complacency get to him already, he wouldn't do it again. He couldn't expect for Loki to save him every time he floundered.

He trudged forward, following the silver road.

0o0o0o0o0o

In order to take his mind off his hunger as he walked, Steve thought about Peggy and his Howling Commandos and Colonel Phillips. They were never far from his mind, and sometimes he couldn't help but compare his new team to his old. He knew it wasn't fair to either of them: they were their own people.

But when Tony carried on in some selfish performance or Thor's impetuousness got them into another sticky situation during a mission, or whenever Steve's stress spiked that something had happened that might set Bruce off, he missed his old team more than ever. The Avengers were a good group of people, but they were only a team in the loosest of terms. Fighting for something greater than themselves was something they only took to slowly and under extreme duress. Sometimes, Steve just wanted to give orders and have them executed without it going to committee.

When he thought about his old team, he missed Bucky most of all. Bucky had always been his better half. He'd never grown jealous of Steve after the super serum, never gave up on Steve. Bucky was his brother in soul, if not in blood, and Steve knew he was the sort of friend a person only found once in a lifetime.

And he'd lost him, and even now, he couldn't convince himself it wasn't at least partly his fault. Of all his mistakes, losing Bucky was the one that dogged him the most.

Loki thrashed on his back, jolting him from his memories.

The moon had begun to set, the silver path dwindling in the promise of the sun. Steve wondered what would happen when the sun rose. He hadn't thought to ask: he didn't know he'd have to travel so far.

A faint, cool wind ruffled his hair, signaling the sun's approach. Steve had never noticed the morning wind until he had to form up at Oh-dark-thirty every day in training. He'd stood in formation same as everybody else, catching a glance at the fading stars at the risk of being yelled at by his platoon sergeant. As the sun approached and the stars relinquished their hold for another day, a faint wind always picked up as if sweeping the remnants of night away.

Just as the sun peaked its golden brow upon the horizon, Steve could see a lone tree standing in the giant field. As he grew closer, he identified the sweeping boughs of a weeping willow. The rising sun caught in a bubbling brook beside it, turning it into sparkling gold.

Steve hoped Loki would wake from his nightmares, if only to help navigate the conversation Steve knew was coming. It always felt like he was in a word minefield when he talked to the denizens of this strange world. A misstep would result in their deaths. Steve had never been a wordsmith, and it's not like he could fight words.

It would be much easier if he could.

As they great closer to the tree, Loki thrashed on his shoulder and shouted incoherently with greater frequency. Steve spoke empty platitudes to the tortured man and soldiered on, Loki's weight growing heavier on his shoulders. Each step was harder than the last, as though the grass was holding on to his feet.

Just before he'd made it to the willow tree, a great beast with eyes made from despair and the sharpest talons Steve had ever seen grew from the blades of grass and stood tall before him. It was the green of rotted vegetation and stunk of death. Its teeth were sharp and ragged so that when the beast smiled; it was all the more gruesome.

Steve quickly backpedaled. He wondered how long his adrenaline could take him through this fight; hoped it was long enough to get Loki to the Queen.

"Little soldier, marching to the fields of war with your hands clenched in fists, what purpose have you in seeking my fair queen?"

"I am looking for a way home, and a cure for Loki who was hurt by a Nightmare in the virgin forest."

The creature chuckled. "I trust you did not think you would see my fair queen without a fight."

"No," Steve sighed, "I'm hardly ever that lucky."

"You are a mortal. I have not added one of you to my collection for many years." The monster said as it called a giant spear from the grass to its hand. The faces of trapped souls stared out from its mirrored blade.

"That may be," Steve agreed, "but I think I will prove a greater advisory than you expected." His eyes darted across the expansive field, looking for cover and finding none. With Loki strapped to his back and shieldless, he was exposed. He didn't have a lot of options, and this would be a difficult battle even if he was at full strength.

"With your anchor? I think not. Even at your best, you would be a game. Now, I almost feel guilty."

Steve settled into a fighting position, shifting his weight so that Loki wouldn't over balance him. His stomach was nauseous from the combination of adrenaline and hunger. He dug deep, touching on his reserves. He didn't mind dying, but the possibility that his soul would be lost here forever frightened him, and he knew he couldn't fail.

Loki lolled on his shoulders.

"Use this." He offered his staff.

"I don't know how." Steve took the weapon tentatively, gripping the worn wood in his calloused palm. He glanced back at Loki, who was staring at him with fevered eyes.

"It knows you."

Steve stood in the warrior's position, glaring up at the mighty creature. Souls screamed in its eyes, and Steve realized with a jolt, that he'd be there too, had Loki not knocked that fruit from his hands.

They'd both be there, if he failed.

It launched.

Steve rolled away awkwardly shifting Loki's weight and loosening a blast as cover while he tried to flank the monster. Despite its size, it was fast and it took all of Steve's strength to dive out of the way as a bladed claw dug into the earth in the place he'd just been standing.

"Where the hell is a weak spot on a dirt-grass monster?" Steve muttered to himself. If only he could just scale the creature, he'd be able to do some serious damage.

He glanced over at the willow tree, wishing he could at least use it for a temporary cover. The air around the tree shimmered slightly, like heat rising from pavement on a hot summer's day, and he realized he wouldn't be able to get to the tree until he'd defeated the thing.

Knowing his options were limited, he braced himself and bared his teeth at the monster. He knew he had a limited window to get the hit in once the creature attacked again. Studying its eyes, waiting for a tell and trying not to get caught in the souls that screamed silently at him, Steve almost missed the moment it swiped at him.

Using the brief opening, he swung Loki's staff. A blue bolt of energy escaped the wood and hurtled towards the exposed flank of the monster.

The claws descended. Steve dove, twisting Loki's body beneath him. Loki's fevered eyes met his own and he looked as though he wanted to say something.

Steve felt claws tear down from his right shoulder blade down into the meat of his back.

Crying in pain, his vision blackening for a moment, he rolled over, his arm pulled awkwardly across his chest as he grasped for the staff he'd dropped.

His fingers clasped around the weapon as the rotting paw came down for its kill. Steve thrust the staff up, blocking the arm inches from his face.

It stared at him with malevolence. Steve swung the staff out in desperation. Sickly green light erupted from the end of the weapon. The grasping paw exploded, splattering Steve and Loki with rotting vegetation and the bones of the earth.

The creature reeled back, clasping its mutilated arm to its chest as it roared in pain. Ichor dripped from the stump, slipping to the ground in great clumps.

Steve untangled himself from Loki and struggled to his feet, holding the staff forward, wondering at his next move.

The creature fell into the earth, abosorbed into the grass and mud and the willow tree was a woman that stood before him.

Steve dropped the weapon and stared at the woman. She was frightening in her beauty. Her eyes were a deep blue that reminded him of the depths of a rock quarry he'd visited once with Bucky the summer after his mother had died. Her flaxen hair flowed around her as if under water. Her face was flawless, her pink lips curved into a soft smile. She wore an elegant flowing dress of green lined in gold. It reminded Steve of a forest floor when the sun shone through the leaves.

"I am the Queen of the Light Elves of Alfheim. Why do you seek me, Steve Rogers?"

Steve struggled to remain upright, but his knees gave way, and he sank to the ground, pulling Loki down with him. He could feel the blood running down his back and knew the wounds were deep. The pain muddled his concentration, and he forced his mind to focus. He would heal, but not fast enough.

"I am Steve Rogers, from the realm of Midgard. I have in my charge Loki, son of Laufey, from the House of Odin, and we seek to break free from the curse of the mistletoe and go home." Steve said, holding up his arm with the attached mistletoe. His words were slurring.

"And why, Steve Rogers, should I grant that?" The queen sounded amused.

Steve looked at the queen, stricken. He'd never been good with women. He couldn't fathom what a normal woman wanted to hear, much less a royal one that he'd thought was a fictional creation. Tony would have been better suited for this adventure, and for the first time, Steve sorely missed his presence. He tried to think of what Tony would say to her and floundered.

You have no idea how to talk to women, do you?

"Because," he started. "Because you must," he ended. Dammit.

"Must I?" The queen smiled; the sun behind her giving her an ethereal glow. Steve's vision blurred, and the queen looked soft and beautiful, and sometimes, Steve thought he could see curl in her hair and red on her lips. Steve forced himself to focus.

"Because you are the only who can," Steve tried again. "Your power is second to none."

The claws had poison. Steve gritted his teeth as he found himself struggling with consciousness. He willed himself to stay upright on his knees even as blackness curled around him. He was supposed to be immune to poison, but clearly his body was as confused by this world as his mind.

"Lady Frigga can, and it is her curse. Far be it for me to interfere with the going-ons of Asgard." The queen said, almost cheerfully. "Alfheim has remained apart for many years, taking no part in the petty business of that realm."

"Please," Steve pleaded. "For my friend." Steve indicated Loki, and realized he hadn't stumbled over the word "friend" this time.

"He is a troublemaker." The queen smoothed her dress. "What's in it for me?"

Steve blinked away the darkness as it wrapped itself around his brain and the pain consumed him.

"What do you want?" He rasped.

"Your one true love," The queen said, gazing down at Steve. "Will you give me that?" She knelt beside him, placing a cool hand against his brow. His thoughts were flooded with sudden clarity.

"You shall make this decision with a clear mind," she said.

And it was no longer the queen staring at him, but the woman he'd loved as long as he'd known her. Her soft brown curls fell around her shoulders, framing a face defined by vivid lips, large brown eyes, and a perfectly shaped nose that crinkled when she laughed.

"Peggy," he whispered. He cupped the face before him, tears gathering in his eyes unbidden. He'd been two years too late. Two years. It might as well have been an eternity.

"Yes," the queen said in Peggy's clipped British lilt. "Would you be willing to trade her for this puny frost giant, who loves none and who seeks the destruction of all worlds so he may no longer be participant to it? I will even heal him; free him of the grasp of my realm. If he stays here, his soul will be mine to do as I wish."

Steve tore his eyes away from Peggy's visage and considered Loki. He thought of his home, still being rebuilt, the direct result of Loki's poorly executed occupation attempt. The memorials and the walls with pictures posted asking, "Have you seen my husband? My brother? My mom?"

Loki had caused the deaths of thousands of people; the greatest number of dead on U.S. soil since 9-11.

The world would be a better place without him. If Steve had the chance to stop Hitler or Schmidt, he would've.

But the small child on the ice, with eyes too large for his small face, floated into his mind. He thought of the Loki who had willed himself to lucidity to knock the fruit away and saved him from the same tortured existence he'd seen in the souls of the monster he'd just fought. Loki had made many terrible decisions that'd resulted in the deaths of others, but Steve couldn't shake the feeling there was good in Loki, too.

He thought of Peggy, the strongest woman he'd ever known. She'd been wonderful and funny; her only expectation of him was that he be the person she'd always known he was.

The only thing she'd ever asked of him was a dance.

"I can't...can't give Peggy up."

"You won't remember her at all," the queen said sweetly, coaxing the compass out of his jacket pocket.

Steve looked down at Peggy's hands, finely manicured and delicate. They were just hands, but Steve had forgotten just how small they were compared to his, had forgotten the way she drummed rhythms against her skirt when she was bored or stressed. And even though this wasn't Peggy, it wasn't, he remembered all the little things that had been her, and he wondered how he could've ever forgotten.

Steve's heart caught in his chest, and it hurt worse than it had when he'd been thawed; worse than when he'd found Peggy had been dead these two years.

"It will be as if she never was." She flipped the compass open and gazed as Peggy's portrait. "She is beautiful," She observed before looking up.

"So what is it, the Trickster or your beloved?"

Loki's weight on his back felt heavier than ever. Steve never had a brother's love, but he remembered Thor's sad eyes when he spoke of his lost brother and the trust broken between them.

He loved Peggy, but he couldn't allow the man to stay here for an eternity, his soul trapped in the eyes of the terrible monsters that roamed the land. All men should be allowed redemption; he had been given one.

"Will she be remembered?"

"Yes, but not by you." Peggy's eyes glittered. The look was alien on her face.

"Will all the things she did remain as important?" Steve implored, looking up into the queen's fathomless blue eyes. He thought of Peggy and Howard Stark and fondue, and what he thought that had meant. He thought of the last promise he'd made, and broken. It gnawed at his soul.

"Yes. But her place in your heart will be as if she was never there," Peggy said gently. "You'll not miss her at all. The regrets you have, the sorrow you feel for waking two years late, all of that will be gone."

She was dead; he would never make another memory with her. He couldn't stand the thought of losing what he had left, despite the pain it brought.

"What of Loki?"

"What of him?"

"Can he be redeemed?"

Peggy shrugged. "It is none of my concern."

Steve thought again of how easy it would be to let Loki die here, free himself of this man that had only caused hate and unhappiness.

But he would not forgive himself if he'd had the opportunity to save another and had not, regardless of the reasons.

Peggy was dead, but if she were here, (this woman, this queen, was not Peggy) she'd be giving Steve a Look. Steve had broken his last promise to her, but he couldn't make a choice that would lead him to being a man wholly different from the one of whom she'd fallen in love.

In another life, a broken soul of a doctor had gone against the will of the Army and chosen Steve as the recipient of his experiments. He had died giving Steve a second chance. If not for him, Steve would be dead, likely of an asthma attack before thirty and nothing would have come from his life.

He owed it to Peggy and to Doctor Erskine to give Loki a second chance.

He owed it to the boy in the ice fields.

"Okay," Steve said quietly.

Peggy's face faded, her brown eyes lightening into fathomless blue, her brown hair growing golden and long. The queen grabbed his chin and lifted his head up. Her eyes searched his. He felt lost in the depths, the comfort of a late summer's day enveloping him. "Are you sure? You give me your love willingly? Once you make this promise, you cannot take it back. It will be held for all of your days, released only upon your death."

"I promise," Steve whispered.

"The memories of your one true love for the safe return of you and Loki Silvertongue, Master Liesmith, with no promises that he won't try to destroy your world again? Think carefully. You can be rid of him now and all the pain he has caused you and yours. I will take the trade willingly. He will live forever in my realm, a servant to my every whim."

Steve blinked away the tears; schooled his face to remain stoic. "I promise."

"Very well."

The queen brought her hand to Steve's skull. Her hand was cool against his skin, but the touch brought a tearing in his brain as all his memories of Peggy surfaced before they were ripped away, leaving a gaping hole in her stead. Steve tried to wrench away from the queen, wanted to tell her to stop, but the words stuck in his throat. He was helpless to watch as his memories of Peggy, few that they were, shuffled by as she searched his brain. Vivid images of his team, of Bucky, of his time as a PR monkey, of the dead in the snowy fields of Germany and the brutality he'd seen on both sides railed against him flashed across his eyes. Overwhelmed, his brain shut down, darkness swallowing him.

"I'm sorry," he wanted to say, but he couldn't remember why he was apologizing, or to whom.

 

A/N Norse Mythology mentions a lot of Kings, but not a lot of Queens, even though the lore also states that most Elves are women. I decided to leave her nameless, but if you have a suggestion, shoot it at me!

"Where are you going, with your hands clenched in a fist?" Is from the Vietnam era anti-war song "Handsome Johnny" by Richie Havens.


	8. Fairytales and Other Forms of Suicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finds himself indebted to Steve. He does not like it.

_

When the dawn brought to my mind

All the love that I had left behind

This could happen in any number of ways

I will bribe tomorrow with all of my yesterdays

_

Any Number of Way-- Chris Valen

He walked an empty field, ice crackling under his feet with every step.

_I shouldn't be here,_ his mind rebelled. _Not again._

But he couldn't remember being anywhere else. Frozen blades of glass, sharp and white tore at his shoes. His friends stared up at him from the shards, their faces jagged, their eyes accusing.

He leaned down to pick them up, but every time his hand clasped around a glass blade, his friends were gone and he held only shards. His blood dripped bright red onto white.

At his feet, he could see Colonel Phillip's piercing eyes staring up from a broken face scattered in the ice around his feet.

The ground shook as monsters that walked on ten thousand legs lumbered by, spitting black ichor at him.

"I don't want to be here," Steve whispered. It was familiar ground he tread. He had lived here almost every day for seventy years.

Not far away he knew rested a graveyard with monuments made of ice. If he went there he could see through the ground to what lay beneath. The epitaphs listed them:

The marriage he never had to a woman he never found. (But when he'd been here last that epitaph had been different and he couldn't remember the words)

The children he never had.

Growing old. (With someone. He'd grown old _with_ someone.)

Dying.

The ice beneath the graves was clear as glass, and Steve Rogers had seen his aged corpse almost every day for 70 years, peaceful in repose, his hands clasped over his chest, ageless and perfect.

Beside him laid one James Barnes, his mouth forever agape in a soundless scream, his sightless eyes staring up from the void. Although his arms were crossed, his hands were reaching for Steve's, curled to catch a hand that hadn't reached him in time.

Colonel Phillips and Jim Morita and Dum Dum and all the rest of the Howling Commandos had joined their ranks over the years. Although they may have aged (must have) in the years he'd been absent, they were as he remembered them. They were dressed in their finest, crisp in their Army Dress that never rotted beneath the ice. On one endless day, Steve'd gone crazy and tried to chip them out. Surely, if only he could free them from their icy cages, then they would awake and keep him company. He'd spent hours or days or years trying to pull them free.

But Steve could not break the ice, and he had remained alone for the whole of his seventy years.

Shortly before he'd been found, another had joined him. Steve stood over the grave now, staring down at the woman who was beautiful and distant and wholly unfamiliar. He wondered who she was and why she'd joined his dead.

Something in him wrenched awfully as he dug at his memories, searching for the woman that he knew must have been important enough for her body to end up in his cemetery of ice. His stomach turned as a sense of wrongness spiked through him and he fell to his knees, expelling bile onto the ice.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Steve struggled to his feet. He couldn't exactly remember why he was here, or if maybe he'd never left. He felt fear and panic crawl up his spine.

"I don't want to be here!" He screamed into the void, the cold wind whipping his words away as soon as he said them. "I don't want to be cold anymore," he pleaded, looking up into the sunless sky. No stars dotted the sky, no clouds, or light. It was ice, and then it was nothing. Steve quickly tore his eyes away, afraid of the expanse above him.

Walls of blue fire skittered unheeded amongst fields of ice. They moved distantly and without purpose, like a tornado across the plains.

Icy snow tore across the plains, moving as sand with the wind, creating dunes and banks that promised cold and death.

Steve knew he'd done something terrible; knew that there were lines missing on the graves; knew that the woman in the grave had been someone that had meant something to him and now he didn't know who she was.

He ran.

He moved across the plains of snow until he met a wall of ice reaching far into the formless sky, glittering in the strange light. He pulled to a stop just in time, finding himself trapped inside. This Steve's bones were misshapen, visible beneath translucent skin.

He was bloodless, a wraith.

Clouded blue eyes shielded in layers of ice met his own, staring at him accusingly.

"I don't know what I've done." Steve felt a weight in his stomach that sat uneasily. He placed his hand against the ice.

The ground trembled, thin lines growing across the block of ice the other him was frozen in. The ice shook apart with the reverberations, falling apart in great chunks. The wraith fell forward. Steve caught him automatically, recoiling too late from his mutilated doppelgänger.

"You lost her," the doppelgänger said, his grinning skull apparent beneath the thin skin, his golden hair frozen to his head.

"Who?" Steve pleaded. "Tell me who I lost!"

The ground shook again and Steve spun rapidly as a great centipede lumbered towards him. He sought his shield, and, finding nothing, threw his fists up. He noticed how small and feeble they appeared and looked down at himself to see he was fifteen, and as frail as he'd ever been.

His doppelgänger stood beside him, and sometimes he was Steve and sometimes he was a ghost, and sometimes he was just a block of ice.

He sought oxygen and found none, his breaths coming in great, wheezing gasps.

The centipede with ten thousand legs and many more teeth laughed at him and sauntered by.

"You are a fool," a man said beside him, his skin blue and eyes burning red. Steve glanced at him. _Loki,_ he remembered with trepidation. Loki knew what he'd lost, Loki could help him escape the ice. But Loki refused to meet his gaze.

"What's happening?"

"You walk the Dream Lands," Loki said. "You'll get lost here."

"Loki," Steve grabbed the frost giant's shoulders, "What have I lost? Why am I here? Take me home."

"What have you done?" Dum Dum asked. Steve whirled to see his old friend, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He had only one eye and it could see through Steve's soul.

"I don't know!" Steve cried, pushing Dum Dum away, but he was too weak, and Dum Dum flayed him open with his eye. Steve's flesh curled around him, the acrid stench consuming him. He looked for Loki, but the demigod was gone.

"I never had what you had." And it was Bucky, not Dum Dum. Bucky stood one hundred feet tall. He had no eyes or nose, but his mouth stretched across his face, a gaping maw with too many teeth to count.

"You were my best friend!" Steve cried out as Bucky ate him. He felt his bones crunch before he slid down his throat.

He clawed his way out even as the stomach acids dissolved him. Colonel Phillips stood waiting. He looked as Steve remembered, but his hands were long, stretched into twelve inch talons that resisted the gravity of the earth. He picked at Steve's tendons, pulling them from his destroyed body.

"Anybody in the world could have had your serum," Phillips said as he licked Steve'd blood off his claws. "You got rid of the thing that that made you special."

He thrashed, pulling himself away from Bucky and Dum Dum and the Colonel.

"Stop fighting me!" A voice, real and close broke through his dreams, past his demented friends and creatures with thousands of legs and teeth and claws that could reach into his soul and deconstruct him.

Steve woke flailing. Loki held both arms, preventing Steve from lashing out. The ice fields were gone, replaced by a bubbling brook and a sky, gold in the gloaming. The great boughs of an ancient willow tree cast deep shadows across the ground. There had been a queen, Steve's feverish mind whispered, but there was none there now.

"Loki?" Steve asked uncertainly, his voice raspy from screaming. Loki stared down at him, green eyes bright and clear. His mouth was drawn in a thin line, his ageless face considering.

"You have saved us," Loki said.

"I don't remember," Steve said.

"I know."

The gash in Steve's back hadn't healed, but it had stopped bleeding. The pain ate at him and he forcefully ignored it. With difficulty, he struggled to a sitting position. There was a deep, abiding hole in his soul that refused to be filled. It hadn't been there before. He clawed at his memories, seeking for the thing that should be there and wasn't.

"I'm not healing," Steve realized.

"Those are no mortal injuries. They were given by a soul-stealer and may never heal, even for a man of your constitution."

Steve stared at the plant in his hands. The small shrub of the mistletoe sat unassuming in his lap. The white berries were fresh and plump and the tiny leaves were slightly curled around spindly twigs.

"Do not think, mortal, that this means we are on friendly terms," Loki said, but his words were without vehemence.

"You were hurt," Steve recalled, glancing at Loki.

"I am healed," Loki said. Steve reached out to touch Loki's arm. Loki jerked away.

"You were wounded here."

The memories flooded back—to the mistletoe, the ice fields, the terrible creature and the meeting with the queen.

"I met with the Queen of Elves," Steve said slowly. "And I lost something important."

"It was at great cost to you," Loki agreed, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Steve weighed Loki. Even now that the mistletoe no longer bound them, he knew when the man was lying.

"I know you," Steve breathed.

He grabbed Loki's healed arm before he could pull away. His skin was cool to the touch, and Steve wondered if that was because of Loki's nature, or because of his fever.

"We walked the roots of ice together."

Steve realized he didn't need JARVIS to brief him on Asgard mythology, after all. Those who had walked Niflheim had never meant to escape. To know it was to know truth.

"We did."

The bubbling brook beside them sung a quiet song, but Steve was no longer lulled by the soft melody. He wanted to be done of this place—of the queen, and all Alfheim. He wanted to go home. His body ached with a pain that wasn't entirely due to his injuries.

Steve struggled to stand. "I don't want to be here anymore," he said. To his surprise, Loki helped him up.

"Neither do I."

Steve stumbled as he climbed to his feet. The gash in his back bit into his soul and he stumbled forward.

"She lied," he gasped.

"The Queen is not a liar, but she keeps her promises close."

"I hurt," Steve looked up at Loki with imploring eyes. "She said I wouldn't."

"What did she promise?" Loki shook Steve's shoulders, "Think."

Steve thought hard. "She said, 'the regrets you have, the sorrow you feel for waking two years late-all of that will be gone.' I don't know what that means! How did I wake two years too late? Too late for what?"

"She has kept her promise," Loki said, hauling Steve up as he sagged against the Aesir.

"What don't I remember?" Steve implored, pushing away to meet Loki's eyes, his eyes wide as he searched Loki's indiscernible face.

"I must take you to my mother," Loki said, "She knows how to heal the wounds of Elves. We are not yet safe. You should've asked the Queen to heal you. Considering the price you paid, it would not have been too much to ask."

"What price?!" Steve shook Loki. "What have I lost?!"

The world went sideways and Steve stumbled. Loki steadied him. "You cannot change it, the deal has been made, and for that I am indebted to you. We should have gone to my mother first. The cost would not have been so great." Loki looked pained.

"But what have I lost? It's important," he pleaded, reaching for his compass. Alarm shot through him as his hand closed over empty space. The familiar weight was gone. "Where's my compass?"

"You can never ever have it back," Loki said, his green eyes assessing Steve. "Knowing that, does it matter?"

"Yes," Steve said, fighting away the pain and the poison. "Tell me!"

Loki wheeled around, holding Steve up by his shoulders as his icy eyes met Steve's. "You traded something for me. The thing that you loved more than anything in the world. For me," Loki's teeth ground together.

Steve sagged. Loki caught him wordlessly, shouldering his weight. "You carried me this far. I will carry you home to my mother. I am not so honorless as to leave you here."

"You owe me nothing," Steve whispered.

"I owe you everything. And I hate you for it."

* * *

They crossed the fields of Alfheim unbarred. As the sun ducked beneath the horizon, fireflies rose with the moon. Dark things danced in the sky, shadows against the moon, and Steve wondered if they had always been there.

Their pace was slow but steady. Steve's dependence on Loki grew as their hike progressed. His head was cloudy and his wounds ached, throbbing with his heartbeat and each footfall.

"Let me rest," Steve said.

"If I let you down, you will never rise again," Loki said, his grip around Steve tightened as he pulled Steve forward.

Steve stumbled. His feet dragged and he felt as though he were on a ship deck in a storm. "Leave me, Loki." He was weary.

Loki refused to stop, shouldering more of Steve's weight on his thin frame. He was, Steve realized, much stronger than his stature lead him to believe.

"Shut up," Loki muttered.

They pushed on.

"Why did you do it?"

"What?" Steve asked thickly. His tongue felt foreign in his mouth. His vision blurred around the edges, and a skeleton followed them in a black cloak, grinning at them. Steve tried to will him away, but he was there every time Steve dared to look. Fear pierced through the veil of poison and pain, and he gritted his teeth against it.

"Why did you save me? I did not ask for it." Loki refused to look at him.

"I know," Steve glanced at Loki. "I was given a second chance, once. I would've lived and died as a nobody if Doctor Erskine hadn't saw something in me that no one else did. He died for me."

"I'm not a nobody."

"You're weak," Steve said, wincing. The pain in his back reached tendrils up into his skull, squeezing his brain with every beat of his heart.

"That's a lie," Loki hissed.

"I was once, too." Even his teeth hurt. "Do you know what I learned?"

"I don't care."

"I learned that there are always two choices: the hard thing and the easy thing. The hard thing is almost always also the right thing to do. The easy thing is just the easy thing."

"You fountain of wisdom is fathomless." Loki repositioned his shoulder under Steve's.

"It seems like an easy enough concept," Steve said, realizing he was starting to ramble. "But it's hard in practice."

"Shut up."

A night wind cooled the sweat on Steve's brow. He tried to walk without stumbling, but his body wasn't keen on obeying him, and he sagged against Loki. The skeleton still dogged them, and Steve found himself stealing glances at him more frequently. He could swear it was growing closer.

"You are not imagining him."

"Who is he?"

"I think you know. We must move with haste." Loki hefted more of Steve's weight and picked up the pace. Steve moaned in complaint, his head bowing against his chest as the weight became too great.

"Get it together, Captain," Loki said in Colonel Phillips voice. "I don't put my stock in quitters."

Steve couldn't keep his reality straight and his brain was muddled with fever hallucinations. He had something important to tell Loki, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words.

Eventually they arrived at a great trunk that met the sky. No matter how far Steve craned his head, he could not see the boughs of the tree. He didn't look down, didn't want to think about the ice fields that waited there. Before them was a magnificent door formed from aged wood. Delicate sigils carved unknown words in a flowing script. The words seemed to stretch and glow. Loki shifted Steve's weight, pulling him back up as Steve tried to sink to the grass.

"I will never thank you for what you did. The choice was yours. I did not ask you for it."

"I know."

"I will take you to my mother because I owe you a debt, but then we are even." Loki place a finely boned hand against the door, the sigils glowing as he whispered foreign words.

"I know," Steve said again.

"I don't want to be indebted to you."

"You never were."

Alfheim faded around them.

A/n:

I figured the Queen would be like a Genie: very particular in the granting of wishes. She saved Steve from death, but did not cure him of his wounds since it was not requested.

Title is from the eponymous song by The Old Ceremony


	9. Dear Land of the Dwarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki travel to the Land of the Dwarves to forge a new shield. Loki tricks Steve.

_

You pull me through these stories you create

And I'm waiting for the big charade to stop

And hoping that you soon will realize this is a big mistake

And graciously decide to drop me off

_

-Lightning Twice by Spiraling

They landed abruptly in a windy valley, Steve's breath caught in his throat as his stomach lurched. Once he was sure he wasn't going to throw up, he drank in the new surroundings.

They were in the shadowed boughs of gray evergreens, spindly and threadbare. The trees were not the green Steve associated with living things. Instead, the trunks were a sickly brown; the needles a dull gray.

Beside them, water stumbled over a rocky bed to where it joined a large, black lake that reflected the gray mountains. Steve looked up. The evening's late rays cast everything in deep shadows and the setting sun was already behind the mountains, leaving the sky a fiery red. It was the only color in this strange land. As the mountains climbed, splinters of clear cut trees stood against steep and rocky mountainsides, giant boulders posed precariously against the slopes. Steve searched for a route up. To his dismay, there was none.

"That was the Bitfrost." Loki glanced at Steve before he quickly began picking his way up the mountain. Steve stood rooted.

"Where are we going?"

"We must find an opening to the Duergar's halls. Your people call them Dwarves."

"Dwarves?"

"Short angry people, prone to fighting."

"I want to know what the hell is going on," Steve said, crossing his arms awkwardly over his plated chest. "I've been a pretty good sport, but your parents have been vague and I want to go home. I don't need this shield, Tony'll make me one. He owes me."

Loki sighed explosively, throwing a disgusted look over his shoulder. "They're not my parents," he sneered.

"Whatever," Steve said, proud to use the word Tony had taught him as casual slang.

Loki gave him an appraising eye. "I will explain once we've reached the entrance. We do not want to be here after dark. The Svartalfar walk these lands."

"Who?"

"The Dark Elves," Loki explained. His tone asked, _don't you know anything?_ And in Steve's defense, there were a lot of sagas in that book, and no, he didn't know everything.

But if the other elves had been the good ones, Steve didn't want to meet these ones. He hurried to catch up to Loki, who had already begun his ascent.

The going was tough. The slope was loose with rocks that gave easily. Steve found his feet slipped frequently on the barren rocks, creating a small slide of growing stones that rolled and bounced into the valley. Every time he fell, his wounds pulled, causing his breath to snag in his chest. Steve watched the sky occasionally, the first stars heralding the quick approach of night.

"What happens when the sun sets?"

"Many years ago there was a great war in Alfheim. A number of elves were cast out or immigrated to these lands. They found the deceit of the Light Elves unsettling, and preferred to settle their differences openly. When they lost, they came here, to the realm of the Dwarves.

"The Dwarves live below these mountains, in deep caverns. The Elves cannot live in the absence of the sun, so they settled into an uneasy truce. They live here, among these broken trees and in the valleys, and only to a certain depth in the ground.

"They have all the glamor available to them as Elves, and they are dark and as twisted as this land. They care not for outsiders, and as there are no large beasts here, have found that we are suitable game. They are excited for the chase, but they come only when the sun sets."

Loki's moved as a cat, careful but sure with his footing on the treacherous mountainside. Steve tried to follow the same footing, but often found himself slipping as rocks rolled out from his feet.

The strange songs of birds faded as the last rays of the setting sun faded.

"We must hurry." Loki's pace quickened. "They are here."

Steve looked up. They still had several thousand feet to clear before they reached the tree line. They weren't going to make it. His eyes scanned their surroundings, looking for a defensible position. Despite the rocky terrain, there was little in the way of cover.

They ran.

Steve felt before he heard the creature at their back. He rolled away just in time as a large bolder that seemed to be all teeth steamrolled past. It spun on them with an agility that belied its mass. It was huge and gray, its massive arms wrapped in vines studded with long thorns.

"What is that!" Steve yelled.

"That," Loki said as he swung his staff, "is a Dark Elf."

"It's a monster!" Steve said, knocking at a thorny arm that reached towards them.

"That is its glamor," Loki loosened a blast as the Elf attacked, and phasing in behind the creature as it rolled too close.

A dart flew past him and bounced harmlessly against the slope. Steve watched as the rocks steamed and dissolved as the tip hit them.

"We are surrounded," Loki said in Steve's ear as he phased in behind him, grabbing Steve's arm before he could pull away. There was a moment of vertigo and when Steve righted himself, they were by the lake. It stretched out in the valley, the surface abnormally smooth, reflecting the distant sky in eerie perfection.

"Do not stare too long," Loki warned. Steve averted his gaze from the water that was also the sky. He had thought, for a moment, to walk on its surface. He would be walking among the stars.

"What is this?"

"We are in the land of the Niorun. The water-wights live here. We tread carefully."

"I thought we needed to find a cave?"

Loki glanced at him. "We were surrounded and outnumbered. We do not want to cross the Dark Elves. I transported us."

"Yeah, but why here?" Steve persisted. "Why not to the mouth of the caves?"

"Because," Loki spat, "I can only transport us to places I have been."

Steve looked around them, careful to skip his eyes over the huge black lake. The banks were white stones, each one glimmering in the moonlight. They were perfectly in shape; all smooth and nearly equal to another. The abnormality of perfect stones set Steve's teeth on edge. "You've been here?"

Loki glanced at Steve with a barely contained eye roll. "Should I be redundant?"

"So who is Niorun? And what are water-wights?"

"Niorun is the goddess of dreams. The water-wights are here. See for yourself."

The water stirred and Steve watched as a creature broke the surface. It had straggly green hair not unlike seaweed, its skin a sickly white. Its face went was flat to the mouth, where a narrow slit opened to reveal several rows of tiny, sharp teeth. It was soon joined by several others, raising just far enough out of the water to glare at the pair with black unblinking eyes. The first one to rise smiled at them, its thin mouth curling up too far, nearly reaching the plane of where its ears should've been. Steve shuddered.

"A mortal, and Loki the Liesmith also the Silvertongue and Sky-Traveler." Its voice was raspy, like the winter ocean against rocky shores. "It has been many moons."

"Water-wight, we seek safe passage through this realm in search of Brok and Eitri."

The creature considered them for a moment before it turned, the motion against the water causing no ripples. It spoke rapidly in a foreign language to its peers. Long arms that ended in webbed fingers splashing against the lake whenever it seemed to make a point. Its fellow creatures splashed back, careening in their own voices until they'd seemed to reach a consensus. Steve thumbed the hilt of his sword uneasily.

"Nothing comes without a price," The designated speaker of the water-wights turned back to them.

Steve stepped back, flashing a look at Loki. He had paid enough.

Loki shifted beside him, palming a golden gem, perfectly tear dropped, flawless in its quality. "It is a tear of Queen Frigga."

The wights grew excited, rapidly conversing in their high, indecipherable language. Something slapped the surface and Steve saw a scaled tail slip under the water. Steve glanced at Loki, wondered if he knew what they were saying.

"We accept," The leader said. "Safe passage, for the tear." And the creatures moved, pulling the water with them. A path opened up across the lake bottom, the walls of the lake held at bay.

Loki stepped forward, clenching the gem. Steve hesitated before stepping onto the wet rocks.

They crossed the rocky lake bottom, mindful of the flapping fish that had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Steve knew how they felt. They had done no wrong except to be caught in the webs of beings greater than they who could affect their universe.

He wanted to save them all.

Steve stared a moment at the dying fish before he hurried to catch up to Loki. Steve knew that even if he could swim in this armor, the water-wights would tear him apart before he reached the surface. He found it ironic that he had to trust the master liar, but he had seen shadows moving in the trees behind them and knew it wouldn't be long before the Dark Elves attacked them again.

The water-wights tracked their movement on the other side of the wall, occasionally treading water to stare at them. Steve stared back, realizing that there were corpses suspended in the water, bulbous eyes staring out at them from bloated faces. "Who are they?" He whispered to Loki. Rheumy eyes followed their path across the lake bottom.

"Those are the sailors who were lured to doom by the Water-wights. They are collected in this lake until Ragnarok, when they will fight."

"But they're so-" ugly, but the word died on his lips as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, a water wight staring intensely at him.

"They can be quite beautiful, and the song they sing tempts all men."

"It's a terrible fate."

Loki shrugged. "No worse than any other. They should have been more careful."

"Is that a threat?"

"Dear captain, I have little need in threatening you."

The lake bottom was littered with the treasures of crashed ships; gems and gold that glittered under the distant moonlight, sodden silks and wools in myriads of colors. Steve glanced down as he felt a snapping beneath his feet, a cracked skull grinning brokenly up at him.

"That one was dead before they crashed," Loki told him.

Steve squared his shoulders and focused on a great stone outcropping at the center of the lake. The walls of water stretched several hundred feet above them on both sides. "This is another entrance to Niðavellir, I have been here once before, when they forged Laevatein for me," Loki indicated his staff.

Steve glanced at the weapon. "I did not know it had a name."

"Without a name, it is useless. Everything is."

Loki pressed his hand against the door and whispered a word. The granite folded and slid away, revealing tall stone stairs that stretched upwards into a damp gloom. Steve hesitated for just a moment before stepping across the thresh hold. Loki turned and placed his mother's tear on the lake bottom before the heavy door slid closed. Steve saw a scaled hand reach out to grab it as the water came crashing down.

The air inside the tunnel was stale and cool, the sound of dripping water and a subterranean brook the only noise in the black caves. There was no natural light, and Steve felt the primal fear born from being in absolute darkness curl around him. Loki's staff lit up, casting the stonewalls in a sickly blue light.

Steve didn't think it was much better.

"We go up," Loki said.

After a thousand stairs they could see a faint, warm light in front of them. Drawing towards it, Steve felt the ground begin to level, the steps becoming less severe. He stumbled as he reached his last one, his legs used to the motion of climbing. The walls opened up into spacious halls that reflected the scattered light cast from interspersed crystal prisms embedded in the walls.

A short, stunted creature with beady eyes and a long, gray beard rushed past them. He carried a bucket of rocks and barely spared him a look. He spat on the ground as he passed them.

"Is that a-?"

"A dwarf, yes," Loki said. "Come."

"Why are you doing this? Taking me here? I could've come alone, I—"

Loki pulled up short and turned abruptly, his visage curled in a rage that Steve thought was unfounded. "You stupid man," He ground out. "My mother's curse was more clever than I knew. Although that abominable plant is physically gone, the bind it wrought remains. You and I are intertwined for all eternity. Even as you must die, so shall I. That, foolish mortal is why I am here. I am not ready to die should you perish on this journey!"

"No one ever is," Steve said, Bucky's surprised face flashing across his memory as he fell into the frozen valley.

Loki scowled. "I have sought all my life to be beholden to none, and yet I find myself bound to you. I cannot lie nor hide my intentions. Worse," Loki continued, "I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I owe you everything. You saved me, and you traded the thing that meant most to you for it. I may be devious and a liar," Loki's face curled around the words, "but even I cannot ignore this debt."

"I absolve you of it," Steve said firmly. "I didn't do it so you could be indebted to me."

"Then why?" Loki demanded, his green eyes meeting Steve's. He closed the space between them, and Steve fought the urge to step back, his hackles bristling. "My own family has never done such a thing."

"Because..." Steve began, fumbling for words. He found he couldn't break Loki's gaze. "Because you are not so different from me."

"We are nothing alike," Loki sneered.

"In the ice fields of Niflheim, I told you of a great doctor," Steve began uneasily.

"I remember."

"Before him, I was fragile and weak. He saw something nobody else did and made something great from it. In Alfheim, you saved me when you could've left me for dead. You are the Trickster God. You could have figured out a way to dispose of my body and this...bond between us before it was completely forged with no harm to yourself. But you didn't."

"I still needed you."

Steve gazed at the troubled god, unwilling to acknowledge the lie.

Loki made an exasperated sound. "You're too much like Thor, if you are like anyone."

"No," Steve said sharply. "Thor has never wanted for anything. His strength and friends come as easily to him as loneliness comes to you or I."

Steve stopped abruptly. He hadn't meant to say that.

"You are Earth's hero. Presume to compare us again and I'll forget the debt I owe."

"I'm Steve. Just Steve Rogers. I'm just another guy, and I'm no one's hero. Anybody would die for a chance to make the world a better place."

"Am I a chance to make the world a better place?" He sneered. "You say you were ready to die for me."

Steve hesitated. "I don't know."

Loki laughed humorlessly. "I assure you, I am not." He turned and continued down the dimly lit tunnels.

As they walked the halls, the walls slowly great more ornate and the population increased. Dwarves worked on detailed carvings embedded with gold and gems. The floor grew smoother and the intervals of the glowing crystals increased. Smaller rooms jettisoned off from the main hall, covered by swaths of flowing textiles that softened the harsh stone.

The hallways opened up into a larger room. Steve could hear singing and the metallic clinging of things being forged. As they walked, Loki reached into his robes. He proffered a jug to Steve. "Mead," He said.

"No, thanks."

"Not for you." Loki rolled his eyes. "As a gift, for Brok and Eitri. The Dwarves are great metalsmiths, but they are greedy and can be tricky."

"Well, that's a surprise."

"They like mead, gold, and sweets," Loki palmed a sugary candy in the shape of a spider. "All the more so if they are oddly shaped."

With all these rules, Steve couldn't shake the feeling he was only playing with half a deck. Loki dispensed his knowledge tightly or not at all. 

The temperature of the caverns increased, the distant roar of a fire and the smell of smoke heavy in the air. They could see the firelight of the forge reflected off the cave walls and heard the sound of metal clinking before they saw it. They rounded a curve, the halls opening into a cavernous room that revealed a pair of dwarves. One was bent over an anvil hammering industriously. The other was cooling something in water with tongs, steam rising into the air. Sweat poured from their faces, their shirts cut to reveal muscled arms. Although they both wore long, grey beards, their faces were ageless.

They stopped working as the pair entered the room. "Loki Liesmith," The one at the anvil acknowledged. Steve wondered if maybe Loki lied so much because people expected it of him.

"And a mortal. A human, is it?" The other one asked. He placed the tongs down, stepping away from his steam bath.

"Brok and Eitri," Loki nodded his head in respect, and Steve wasn't sure which one was which. "We come bearing gifts." He proffered the candy and heavy bag weighed down with what Steve could only assume was gold. At Loki's glance, he proffered the jug of mead.

The dwarves took the items greedily. The one Steve guessed was Brok peered into the bag. Apparently pleased with what he saw, he gave them a measuring look. "I suppose you want something forged."

"This is Steve Rogers, my...companion," Loki ground out. "He has lost his shield in his travels. It was the greatest shield I have ever beheld, impervious to all manner of attack, be it physical or magic in nature. Despite seeing multiple battles, the shield neither dented nor warped."

"Who made it?" Eitri asked.

"A Midgardian," Loki's mouth turned up in a smirk as both Dwarves recoiled.

"That's impossible," Brok spat. "You're a liar. Everyone knows it."

"But I am not," Steve said. "And it's true. I had it by my side for seventy years and it never shattered or betrayed me. It absorbed the impact of anything that hit it."

Both Dwarves were visibly upset. They stomped around and muttered curses into their beards.

"And one more thing," Loki said.

"What?" Brok grumbled.

"A suit made of cloth, lighter and more agile than metal yet harder to pierce and invulnerable to any magic, impervious to all manners of weather."

Eitiri roared as he threw down his tongs. "You ask too much!"

Loki reached over and plucked the bag of gold from the anvil. "Then I shall seek my business elsewhere."

Brok reached out quickly, grabbing the bag. "No. We can do it. It will take six months time, but it shall be done."

"You have one week," Loki said. "These are the designs," He slapped pictures down on the table. Among them was one of Steve's old cards, smeared in dried blood. His heart twisted.

The Dwarves yelled and blustered, stamping their feet and indignantly crying "Impossible!" and "Blasphemy!" Loki waited until Brok reached forward to grab the plans, shuffling through the pages. His eyes lingered on the card, and he cast a bushy eyebrow at Steve, appraising him.

"Fine," Eitiri seethed, snatching the sketches of Steve's shield out of Brok's hands.

"And," Loki leaned in, his eyes flashing, "it shall not be cursed. Should I find you have twisted the items in anyway, I will feed you to Nidhogg and he will munch on your bones even as you live."

Both Dwarves stilled, paling beneath their ruddy complexion. Brok roughly uncapped the mead and swallowed deeply.

"We will not curse these items," Eitiri said.

"Swear it."

"We swear it."

Loki waited before nodding. "Fine," He said.

"One week," Eitiri said.

"We will wait," Loki said.

Before they left, the Dwarves took Steve's measurements and sent them on their way, their grumbling and cursing following them down the halls.

"They seemed angry."

"It is their way."

"As lying is yours?"

Loki shrugged.

"So what now?" Steve asked.

"You wait," Loki said simply.

Steve shifted his weight. "What about you?"

"I have a visit to make. I will return shortly."

"I'm not going to wait here alone!"

"You may wander these halls, but be mindful. The Dwarves have been known to steal humans into these halls, never to be seen again."

Steve glanced around him, his jaw clenching. "How long are you going to be?"

"I'll be back in under the hour. I would take you, but my friend...is unkind towards mortals."

"I don't trust you."

"Fine, come if you want. It's your flesh he'll be after, not mine."

Steve glanced at a stone bench carved from the walls. "One hour." 

For stone, the bench was surprisingly comfortable.

* * * 

Singing and clanking filled the air, forming a rhythmic sound that lulled Steve into a meditative state. Time warped around him. Questions skipped across his mind, and if he allowed himself to dwell on it, the hole in his chest great and festered. He grew aware of his injuries, felt the blood drip down his back and pool in his armor. He tried to ignore all of it, grimacing when he was unsuccessful.

Steve forced his mind outward, thinking about the other caves he'd been in, retracing the steps they'd taken to get here. They'd been utilitarian, if not a little sinister, in their use. There was a strange beauty here. Unmined veins of gold and silver glittered light from the nearby forge. Steve observed the carved stories of Dwarven warriors.

He wished he had his book of sagas here.

Loki's light, even steps drew Steve's attention.

"How was your trip?"

"Fine," Loki said, handing an apple to Steve. "Hungry?"

Steve took the apple, perfect and red in shape. "Really?"

"The Dwarves do not taint their food the way Elves do. Regardless, I brought this from Asgard. It is safe."

His stomach growled, his mouth watering in anticipation. Loki sat down beside him and casually ate from his own apple. Hesitating only a moment longer, he made quick work of the fruit.

Loki wordlessly handed him a flask. "Just water."

It had a distinctly earthy taste but it was the best water he ever had. He dropped the flask, feeling embarrassed for drinking it before asking if Loki needed it. Loki seemed amused by Steve's guilty look.

"I am fine. That is for you. I gathered my own." Loki indicated a flask.

"So what now?" Steve asked.

"We wait, and I shall tell you a story of the Beginning of the World and the End, although that may not come to pass soon." Loki gave Steve a queer look. "And I have brought mead for the tale," He revealed another flask, his eyes glittering.

Steve wondered whom Loki had visited that had lifted his spirits. He lifted the flask to his mouth. "I can't get drunk," He said. "So no funny business."

"I would never," Loki said easily, and Steve gave him a suspicious look before he drank from the flask.

Steve, who had never had mead before found it sweeter than he liked, but satisfying enough. For something distilled from honey, it was stronger than he'd expected. He felt it burn down his gullet and settle in his stomach. Loki raised his own flask and drank heartily from it.

So they drank mead and Loki told him about Yggdrasil and the serpent that ate its roots, and the rat than ran its branches and spread discord. He explained the Aesir and the Vanir and all the races of the many worlds.

When Loki's throat grew parched, Steve took up the silence, and shared tales of New York City and the Depression, and World War II and Hitler and Red Skull.

When they grew tired, they slept. When they woke, they would continue where they left off. Steve noticed his skin reflected the firelight and crystals. He looked gold. He held his hand up.

"What?" Loki asked.

"I'm becoming part of the mines!" Steve indicated his arm. Loki gazed at his golden skin blearily.

"You become one of us!" Loki declared. "Welcome, brother."

Steve grinned widely.

He had been drunk once before, right after Bucky had enlisted. Back then, it'd taken half a beer and he was stumbling into walls. It had been a long time, but Steve welcomed the soft, fuzzy feeling that came with the drink. Steve found he couldn't muster the distrust he felt for Loki. Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all.

"You're not such a bad guy."

"Am I not?"

"No, you're all right by me," Steve nodded. He laid a heavy hand on Loki's shoulder. "We could be friends, in another time. We are strangers in a strange land, you and I."

"It's just the mead speaking. All is kind in the face of alcohol."

"I shouldn't be drunk," Steve's face screwed in confusion, and he glared at the flask.

"You've never drunk the mead of the gods before," Loki pulled the flask from Steve's hands, drinking heavily from it before he passed it off again.

Steve considered the flask. "No," He agreed, "I suppose I haven't."

"I am not a kind man."

"I don't believe it!" Steve hiccuped, and he looked surprised. "You're just misunderstood. You're too big for your skin."

"Compared to my brothers, I am weak and found wanting."

Steve tapped on Loki's chest. "Not here."

Loki turned away, his face darkening. "The mead has made you heady. I have given you too much."

"No," Steve insisted. His tongue was thick in his mouth and the world was fuzzy in a comfortable sort of way, but if he could just get Loki to understand, it would be all right. "It's not that you don't belong. It's that they don't understand you."

Loki gave him a sour smile. "Is that all it is?"

"Well, sure. You're different. Adopted. They're your family, and they're not."

"What would you know about that?"

"Everything," And Steve's face was so serious, so plaintive. Loki stared at him for a moment before turning away.

"You know nothing of my people."

"Maybe," Steve agreed slowly, working through the alcohol to find the right words. "But, I know you. And I know Thor. And I even met your parents!"

"They're not my parents."

"They've stayed longer with you than mine own ever did!" Steve said louder than he intended. Loki stared at him with an indiscernible expression. Steve ran a hand through his hair, schooling his expression. "Your mother loves you. I saw it in her eyes. Maybe she didn't give birth to you, but you're hers all the same."

"You walk delicate grounds, Captain. Choose your next words carefully."

"Dammit, Loki, She loves you. Don't you know, you move just like her?"

Loki gave him a wild look before stumbling to his feet with a slurred, "It has been one week."

Steve launched up beside Loki, barely catching himself as the world slid. "My kingdom for a shield!"

"All it took was a bag of gold and a little more."

"Not a bad deal," Steve clasped Loki on his back. "People say you're a bad guy. You're not so bad."

Loki smiled back.

They stumbled into the forge.

Brok and Eitiri were crouched over their tools, glancing up with aggravation as the pair approached. Steve could see his shield, the red white and blue glimmering in the firelight.

"It is done," Brok said, lowering his hammer slowly back to the anvil. "Now go away and expect no more favors from us!"

"I paid you. It's hardly a favor," Loki said, sounding much more clear-headed than he had just a moment ago.

Eitiri addressed Steve with a grumble as he held up the armor. "You will find this incomparable to anything your mortal eyes have yet seen. It will surpass that thing the human made."

"Your armor is as light and sure as any plated you have beheld. It will never tear or burn or freeze. It will remain as strong and durable ten thousands years from now as it is today. The colors can change at will, adjusting to your surroundings. It will protect you from any manner of missile or poison. It is impervious to nearly all manner of attack. With your shield, you shall be nigh invincible," Brok handed Steve his uniform.

"There is one thing we can not protect you from," Eitiri eyed Loki. "It is no trick, it is beyond our capabilities."

"What is it?"

"A little thing; I am sure you will never meet it in this life or the next."

"What is it?" Loki asked this time, his eyes sharp.

"There is a pine grown on the icy mountaintops of Asgard. It is imbued with an ancient magic, and we do not yet know its secrets. When we do, we will reforge your armor accordingly. A weapon made from this wood may still pierce you."

"But," Brok broke in quickly, "It is a rare wood and there are few that live in those lands."

"No tricks, you have sworn it."

"It is no trick. It has taken us many years to earn the secrets of all the things on Asgard. We thought to warn you, should you ever face one of your own ilk."

"I shouldn't," Steve said. He raised a drunken eyebrow at Loki. "Right? I mean, I have no reason to."

"This is true," Loki agreed. After a beat, he bowed slightly. "Thank you." Steve hesitated before he bowed, stumbling as he straightened.

The dwarves grumbled and shuffled back behind the anvil and fires.

Loki grabbed Steve and they phased back into the valley they'd arrived in. The sky was a distant blue, the sun a pale disc on the horizon. "Heimdall!" Loki called.

Steve, whose stomach had begun to do strange things, was not looking forward to another nauseating jump between worlds.

Chapter End

A/N Brok and Eitiri were the Dwarves that forged Mjolnir and Frigga's necklace. However, Dwarves were also known to curse the items they forged if they felt crossed or burdened, which is why Loki exacted the oath from them that he did.

The goddess of fertility, Freyrja, mourned for her lost husband with tears of gold. I figured Frigga might do the same, and those same tears would be invaluable.

Regarding the Water-wights, they're meant to be like Mermaids, who, in Norse Mythology acted much as Sirens and lured seafarers off course. The dead being in their realm is a bit of creative liberty on my part, but there you have it.

Ran, "The Ravanger," is the goddess of storms and wife of the sea goddess Aegir. She takes care of all those that are lost at sea. However, in a fit of creative liberty I decided that the water wights would have a separate place that the souls that they've stolen away from the ships would reside.

Niorun, the goddess of dreams, does indeed live in this realm. Little else is known about her.

Steve's, "My kingdom for a shield!" is a play on Shakespeare's Richard III and the line, "A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!"


	10. Wayfaring Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki tricked Steve. The mead wasn't just mead, and the apple wasn't just an apple.

_

This world is not my home

I am bound across the river

Just a poor, wayfaring stranger

Passing through

_

-American Folksong

They arrived in Asgard to a small entourage. Frigga and Odin stood glowing on the steps. Steve stared blearily at Heimdall. The man with the hourglass eyes stared back, a strangely apologetic look on his face. Steve was ready to comment on it when Frigga approached him with open arms.

"Welcome home." She smiled.

Steve went to meet her. She smelled of jasmine and a spring day. Steve realized it was the first he had hugged a woman since...

...since his mother. Frigga's soft body brought back a rush of memories. For a moment, he was hugging his mom again, and he was safe.

Odin followed quickly with a tight embrace. He froze slightly once he wrapped his arms around Steve, his brows furrowed.

"Are you all right, sir?" Steve realized belatedly Odin had likely smelled the alcohol on him. He felt it lingering in his head, knew it was on his tongue and in his skin. He straightened his spine, trying to appear as sober as possible.

"What sorcery is this?" He turned towards Loki, his voice deepening, his dark eye piercing.

Loki smiled sly with an expansive shrug. "Father, I trust you didn't think I would allow him to remain mortal. Not as our lives intertwined as they are."

"What?" Steve realized they were talking about him and fear spiked through him. He glanced at Odin, his countenance dark. Steve looked at Loki who returned his gaze evenly and then to his exposed skin. The faint golden glow he'd had in the mines was still present. "It wasn't the reflection of firelight," Steve realized.

Loki smirked.

Steve looked away from his shimmering skin, to the gods who bore the same glimmer. "Am I immortal?"

Frigga's face was telling, but he'd known the answer before he'd even asked it.

Steve felt the world shift sideways. Seventy years had been bad enough, finding all his friends had died in the interim. Eternity stretched out before him and with it the realization that his teammates and friends would die before he aged another day.

"Now we are the brothers you have sought to make us," Loki said.

Steve clenched his teeth, his hands balled at his side. "That thing you gave me in Niðavellir wasn't just mead."

"No. You drank the mead of the gods and ate the apple of eternal youth," Loki yawned. "I told you I wouldn't die beside you, some wasted old man. Your serum aged in your veins. I have cured you. You should be grateful."

Loki's head snapped back with a satisfactory crack as Steve's fist connected with his face.

Loki stumbled back, his eyebrows raised in surprise, hands flying to his face to catch the blood the spewed from his nose.

Surprise quickly turned to rage, and he scrambled for his staff. He swung it around as a melee weapon, the wood hitting Steve's newly minted shield with a dull clang.

"You may be immortal but you're not invincible!" Loki stalked towards him. "I'll embrace my mortality, if it means being rid of you, you ungrateful toad."

Last time they'd fought, it had taken Iron Man's intercession to best Loki.

This time, Steve knew where Loki's mirages were before he even stepped into him.

Loki grunted as Steve's shield knocked into his chest, the avatars blinking out as Loki heaved for breath.

Loki shot back in a blast easily deflected by Steve's shield. The energy deflected upwards, lost in the sky above them. "I know where you are before you do!" Steve shouted.

"Enough!" Odin roared. He stepped between them, holding his arms up to separate the pair. He cast them both in a dark scowl. "You battle like children."

"I do not want immortality!" Steve wheeled on Loki, "I traded the thing I loved most in this world for you."

"Better fool you, then. You are not the first in your misguided attempts to fix me," Loki scoffed. "You certainly won't be the last."

"You are as terrible as they say," Steve spat, trembling with controlled rage.

Frigga stepped forward, clasping a gentle hand around Steve's arm. "All is not lost. You may find friends among us,"

"I have suffered one life time already. Don't make me endure another," he grabbed her hands. "Take it back. You saved me before. Reverse this curse."

The Queen's face crumpled. "What you have taken...cannot be undone. I am sorry."

Steve stared into her eyes. And he understood. She'd known. She'd placed her son's life ahead of his. And she'd do it again. He dropped his hands from hers, stepping back a few paces. He stared at her before turning wordlessly from the pantheon.

They let him go.

He stormed through the halls aimlessly. He looked up at the ceiling, arched and grand, and wondered if this would be the place he'd have to call home, knowing he had no place on Earth. His new America barely had room for her Captain now; there was no saying what another hundred years would bring. 

Fighting back alternating waves of sorrow and rage, he eventually found himself heading back towards his room. Settling to the bed, his breaths became ragged and he felt he was drowning again, Loki caught behind him in the swirling eddies of the Alfheim river. He'd been so _stupid._ Loki had been a weight then, and he was an anchor now. 

Desperate to take his mind off the feedback loop it was caught in, his eye caught collected sagas he'd left on his bed. He grabbed at it blindly, preparing to throw it across the room when it flipped open. 

_

Winter will fall on the land. Three years without summer,

and conflict and feuds would break out, even between families,

and all morality will die and this is the beginning of the end.

The wolf Skoll will devour the sun and his brother Hati will eat the

moon, plunging the earth until darkness. The stars will vanish from

the sky. The cocks Fjalar and Gullinkambi will signal to the giants

and the gods the beginning of Ragnarok. A third cock will raise the dead.

Jormungand, the mighty serpent, will twist his way towards the land.

With every breath he will stain the soil and the sky. The ship of the giants

and the ship of the dead from Helheim with Loki as their helmsman will sail

towards the field of battle.

Heimdall will sound his horn, calling the sons of Odin and the heroes from

Valhalla. All the gods and giants, dwarves, demons and elves will ride to the

plain of Vigrid where the last battle will be fought.

Thor will fight Jormungdand and win. But the serpent's poison will kill the god of

thunder. Heimdall and Loki will fight and neither will survive the encounter.

The mighty wolf Fenrir will consume Odin.

_

Steve slammed the book shut, his hand flying to his brow to relieve the pressure building behind his nose.

He had never felt so lost. He'd always had a mission. Survive. Get into the Army. Win. Defeat Red Skull. Even when he'd plummeted into that icy ocean, he knew exactly what he was doing. Now he felt rudderless. Everyone he loved was dead. He was supposed to be dead. It went against the natural order of things; he had never been meant to survive childhood or the War, and that was _okay_. His mother had taught him that as long as he was good, he would be rewarded in death where he would be reunited with his family and friends again. God looked out for the weak. Caught in his asthmatic attacks, his mother would hold him until he could breathe again, her fingers running through his mussed hair and she'd tell him of the glories of God and Heaven, where they would all meet again.

On her deathbed, surrounded by the sweet smell of sickness, her face pale, the breath in her chest rattling, she'd taken his hand and said, "There is no sickness, nor toil, nor danger in that bright land to which I go. I'm only going over Jordan. I'm going home. I'll be waiting there for you."

Steve sunk his head into his hands and sobbed. He missed his mother and Bucky and Peggy and all the rest from his whole life. He even missed his new team, as surly and broken as they were. 

When he could cry no more, he leaned back and breathed deeply, his eyes skittering around the expansive room. He found a pencil in his collected, ruined items at the foot of the bed. Grabbing it but without his sketchbook, he began sketching in the margins of the tome.

After an age, a soft knock came at his door. Steve looked up as Frigga pushed in.

"Steve Rogers," She said, settling on the foot of his bed.

"Your majesty," Steve returned stiffly, not pausing in his drawings.

"I am sorry for this deceit," she said, placing a cool hand over his, calming his mad sketches.

He pulled away. "You knew."

"Yes," she admitted, her cool eyes meeting his. Steve wondered if he could find someone who would bargain with him to reverse his immortality. "You cannot begrudge a mother wishing her sons to never die."

"You fooled me!"

Frigga nodded, sorrow etched on her face. "You might save my son yet."

Steve stood. "I didn't ask for this! He's not my responsibility!" The book landed with a thud on the stone floor, its pages falling open to rest on the passage he'd just read.

"You didn't ask for the serum, yet it was bequeathed to you." Frigga's face hardened. "You sought to save my sons when even Thor could not. You have saved all the worlds. Loki is not anymore broken than you."

"I have already witnessed the deaths of all my friends!" Steve said sharply. "You ask I suffer the deaths of this team as well!"

"They have many years. You would trade the lives of your friends for the lives of all those that live in all our worlds?"

Steve's mouth hung open and he quickly shut it, drawing his mouth in a thin line. He realized, suddenly, where Loki had learned some of his deviousness.

"You know I wouldn't," Steve said quietly. "But it wasn't even asked of me."

"And if you had refused?"

"So what if Loki died one day? My own life was extended as it was, we would have lived for decades."

"You have never had a son. Decades are nothing to us. In my place, you would have made the same decision. You are a demigod now. Mortals have sought immortality for thousands of years and here it was, given to you."

"I wasn't given the choice. I wasn't even asked."

Frigga's face shuttered closed. "Yet it cannot be undone." She glided to the door. "Best you make with what you have."

Steve stared at the door a long time. His hands clenched the fur blankets as he felt despair claw at him. He bent to pick up the fallen book, settling back to drawing sketches in the margin, the repetitive motions meditative and familiar.

He sensed rather than saw Loki by the window. He looked up slowly, feeling the hatred for the Trickster God he had stayed for so long. It curled around him, like the poison he'd suffered. He hated himself for it.

He hated Loki.

"I understand your anger."

"You don't know the half of it. I trusted you and you tricked me. Steve let the book fall to the floor once more as he stood, stalking toward Loki. The slight tilt to his lips fueled Steve's rage and he snarled as he shoved Loki's chest. "I traded Peggy for you! I saved your life!"

"I know," Loki, scowling, stepped out of Steve's reach.

"You don't know!" Steve shouted. "You don't know how much she was worth!"

"I'm not meant to love," Loki folded his arms.

"Don't give me that bull. I'm not going to put up with one of your pity parties. You think you're the only one who's had a hard life? Who felt like they didn't belong? Tough shit, bucko. A million teenage boys wax your angst right now. You get frozen in ice and come back in seventy years, everyone you knew, your whole world gone, be expected to fit in like nothing ever happened, and then you talk to me about feeling out of place. Until then, shut up."

"The sagas said-"

"I know what the sagas say. You're telling me that you, the great Trickster God, abide by words written in a moldy tome?"

Loki opened his mouth to speak, his brow drawn in anger. Steve spoke over him. "Well guess what, I stopped it. The mistletoe and Balder are safe. You can't get some blind god to accidentally shoot him with an arrow now, can you?

Loki waved a dismissive hand. "That's not what it's about-"

"Then what's it about, Loki? I told you before, you are no different than any man who's waged war on Earth, convinced by your delusions. Who cares about the millions that have to die for you to prove a point?"

"You presume to know me."

"I know exactly who you are!" Steve roared. "Your mother made sure of that when we were tied to that cursed plant. I could-should have let you die there in Alfheim, your soul trapped by that monster. But I thought there was something good, some spark of hope left in that corrupted husk of yours." Steve stormed over to his bed, gathering his meager belongings and shoving them into a canvas sack folded at the foot of the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going home." Steve grabbed the old saga from the bed, shoving it into the bag.

"I'll kill you."

"You're a liar, Loki Laufey."

Loki clapped. "You found me out. Good for you. You're denser than you look if it took you this long."

"Go to hell."

"I will," Loki said sweetly. "Have you read that in the sagas yet?"

Steve hesitated; his hand paused over the heavy handle of the oak door. "No. I don't care."

"I'll be tied to a rock with poison dissolving my body until the end of days."

"Ragnarök?"

"Ragnarök."

"How will you be killed?"

"It doesn't matter. The moment I draw my last breath, that's where I'll be. Without Ragnarök, I'll be there for an eternity. Valhalla's shining halls do not wait for me. So you've stayed Ragnarök, wonderful for you. Whether you died a natural death in another hundred years or in a fight on Earth tomorrow, that's where I'm fated to go when you die."

Steve turned, eyes narrowed. "You are selfish. You'd allow the deaths of billions across all the worlds to save you from your fate."

"I don't live those lives. I live mine. And I don't want to end up in the bowels of Niflheim, acid dripping on my face for all eternity."

Steve settled his shield onto the stone floor as he turned to address Loki. "You betrayed me. You could've asked. I might have said yes."

Loki crossed the room, settling in the empty chair by Steve's bed. "You have a saying. 'Better to ask forgiveness.'"

Steve's brow furrowed. Hate gathered on his lips, but they were sour. He floundered for words; grabbed at the anger that was rapidly cooling.

"I don't trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"I didn't ask for any of this. I don't want it."

"I didn't ask for you to save me."

"I don't want to see my friends die again."

"I don't want to die."

"No one ever does."

"We don't have to," Loki told him.

"Everyone dies, Loki. Nothing is eternal."

"We could be. The greatest team that ever lived."

"We're bonded, Loki. I see through your lies. You mean to get rid of me the moment you figure out how."

"Ah, well, a god can try."

"You're insufferable." Steve sighed. He couldn't shake the feeling that Loki was little more than a petulant child. A dangerous, powerful petulant child. He glared at Loki from the door for a long time before he slid back to his bed and pulled the book from his bag. Cracking open the dusty tome again, he sketched in its margins. Loki remained silently, the scratches of lead against paper and the only sound in the spacious room. Loki slowly moved behind Steve, looking down at his drawings.

"You're quite good. For a human."

"That's high praise, coming from you."

"What are you drawing?"

"Just a friend." A portly man in a tuxedo was holding a toolbox in one hand, and a martini in the other, an easy smile on his face.

After a while, Steve almost forget Loki was there. He filled the cracking pages with drawings, allowing the calm that came with expressing himself on paper to wash over him. As if he could free himself from his worries and upset onto the pages of the book, trapping them in the ancient margins when he closed the aged leather cover. 

"Tomorrow, we travel to Midgard."

"You hate Earth."

"My mother seeks to keep us here, safe from any troubles that might touch us."

"But you don't want to," Steve guessed.

"We can still die."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"How?" Steve looked at him expectantly, searching Loki's face. Hope bloomed in his chest. Loki's clear green eyes finally met his own. He gave Steve a peculiar look.

"I have never been forced to be honest with anyone."

Steve let the diversion slide. He figured he had an eternity to find out how he could die.

"I would tell you I have never lied to anyone, that my morality wouldn't allow it. But we both know it's not true."

Loki grinned. "What hope is there for me when the Hero of Earth lies?"

"Because now I know when you're trying to get away with something."

"You didn't know when I gave you the draught." 

"You weren't lying to me. It was mead."

"Indeed it was," Loki agreed. He leaned over Steve's shoulder. "You need to add some chiaroscuro shading."

"I was only a first year fine arts student when I joined the Army." Steve muttered, shading the indicated places.

"You know, that book is invaluable."

Steve shrugged. "It's outdated. Someone will have to write another one."

Afterward

  
_This is what they wrote about me_  
They know me well.  
A pile of words in permanent thoughts  
from the future 

-Song in D by Mock Orange

On the roots of Yggdrasil in a large room, comfortable and deceivingly warm despite it subterranean location, three women sat chatting.

The eldest was timeless in age. Her black hair had grown white at the temples and spread from there. She had soft crows feet and laugh lines from her many years enjoying existence. Her name was Urd, and she weaved the world’s thread. An elaborate tapestry covered the walls with billions of threads crossing in complex patterns until they ended. Near the top of the tapestry were gold threads that wove and crossed with all the other lines, but these rarely ended. 

Not yet.

Beside her, a younger woman was filling a watering pail from an eternal spring. She occasionally made comments on the tapestry as she went about watering the shoots of the great tree shooing away the four great stags that chewed at its new growth. Her long, brown was plated delicately around her skull and fell down to the middle of her back. Her name was Verdandi.

The youngest sister had golden hair and vivid blue eyes. A long, shimmering veil hung over her face. She carefully pieced out the threads Urd weaved. She considered some threads longer than others, gold scissors hovering over the shimmering lines. Occasionally, she’d hold one up, whisper something to it, and cut the thread. Her name was Skuld, and she decided the fate of all men.

On this particular day, which was a Wednesday, she was holding a thread and peering at it quixotically. It had, inexplicably, turned from a bold yet dull blue to vibrant, shimmering hue. No matter how hard she tried to shake it from an accompanying gold thread that glittered with green undertones, the two would not become untwined. Her delicate fingers pulled in frustration even as the threads wound instantly around one another.

She scowled. “Loki.”

The other goddesses looked up quickly. Urd paused from where she was weaving the world’s tapestry. She looked over curiously. “He turned a mortal?”

Skuld held up the bound threads. “I didn’t approve this!” She cut at the threads petulantly, her scissors bouncing back harmlessly. 

Verdandi set the pail down and leaned over her sister’s shoulder, examining the threads. “This isn’t the first time he’d manipulated the tapestry.”

“It is the first time he’s made one immortal, however,” Urd observed. She continued weaving. Her foot pressed down on the loom, resuming the rhythm of intertwining the threads of what had already happened.

Skuld held the threads, reaching for scissors made of diamond. They reflected the firelight, rainbow prisms cast onto the living wood walls. “Even gods can die,” she said. 

Verdandi stayed her hand. “Ragnarok will come. The world will end. We have foretold it.” She pulled the diamond scissors from her sister’s hand, placing the golden ones back in them. “Just because Loki has manipulated this human into immortality does not change this.”

“It could,” Urd said, unconcerned. 

“I won’t let it. That’s not exciting,” Skuld stood, her veil fluttering around her.

Verdandi pulled the threads from Skuld, examining them closely. “Never before have I seen this.”

Skuld reached for a blue helmet that sat in the corner, bright wings jutting out from the elaborate head piece. “I’m not going to make it easy. Loki must learn he can’t just do whatever he pleases.”

“Loki has been doing whatever we please often enough,” Urd said, delicately pulling a orange thread into her loom. It thinned in places, where Skuld had skimmed the scissors along it in consideration. Even now, it was thinner than most of the threads, a man that often stood on death’s thresh hold. Blue pulsed in the orange. Skuld had thought it entertaining to give the man, a technological sorcerer, dependent on the technology he craved. “Man's hubris," she had scoffed. "That’ll teach him.” 

“He should do what we please all the time. We’re the Fates,” Skuld responded petulantly. She strapped on a breast plate.

“Sister, do not be hasty,” Verdandi counseled, stooping to pick up her pail. 

“I have let that mortal live for these many years, long past the life span of any other, save for the one with the metal bones. His death was to be caused by the very thing that made him excel. No man is meant to live forever.” She pulled her gauntlets on.

“You’ll notice it wasn’t without a suitable payment,” Urd pointed out. She stepped from the loom and pointed to the tapestry where the blue thread and a deep purple one, once closely intertwined, had grown apart.

Verdandi glanced over. “You have been cruel to that mortal, sister. He lived only to find all the ones he’d love had died in his absence. Now he cannot even remember the mortal that meant most to him.”

Skuld scowled, strapping on another gauntlet. “That was amusing.”

“I imagine they did not think so,” Urd mused. She resumed her place behind the loom.

Verdandi plucked at the tapestry, pulling at the golden-green thread. “Loki changes, even now. See how these colors bleed together.”

Skuld paused. “What is your counsel?”

“Perhaps we should let this be,” Verdandi said.

“I have not seen its like,” Urd agreed. “It is easy for good men to fall, and possible for bad men to rise. We have seen it many times. But it is very hard for an immortal to do any thing other than what we decree.”

“He struggles,” Verdandi confirmed. "He seeks to right himself. He is a ship unmoored, unfettered by our constraints. He has long thought he rebelled, but he only ever did what we always decided he would. He does not know what to do with his freedom of choice."

Skuld took on a mischievous look. She scooped to pick up the long threads. “I suppose I could have fun with this.” She grabbed at several thick threads, dark blues and reds that glimmered angrily.

“I opine to give the immortal Loki free will. Strike his actions from the sagas. Ragnarok will come,” Urd said. Her delicate fingers grabbed Skuld’s threads, weaving them into the tapestry that relayed onto the wall. The history of man, billions of lines, confined to a wall on the room of a root. 

“No immortal has ever had free will,” Skuld agreed slowly. “This could be interesting.”

“In all the threads that I watch, even now there are no two bound as these are,” Verdandi said, kneeling to water a new, green shoot just outside the door.

Skuld considered the threads she held. “A little change might behoove our Aesir.” She set the threads on the ground carefully. She held the angry lines carefully, considering. With great deliberation, she set them to converge. “And it will not be easy.”

“Free will never is,” Urd agreed.

Skuld began unstrapping her armor. 

A/N

Continued here, in "Spaces Between Days" http://archiveofourown.org/works/1129751

So as you can probably tell, there's more to the story. It's all sitting on my HD, ready to be edited. I'm looking for a new beta, my last taken up by the busy thing we call life. Once I get this thing edited, I'll be posting it. 

Thanks for reading and sticking with me this far. I consider this something of a living document. It's the longest thing, all told, I've ever written, and so I am concerned greatly with its perfection. I realized that, after a point, I just needed to start putting it up. I had grown so concerned that it would not stand up to the expectations of all the Avengers fans and of those that belong to the small but dedicated group interested in the Loki and Steve relationship that I talked myself out of posting it several times--or only posted pieces here and there until I could muster my courage up again.

If you've read this far, I hope it means you enjoyed it. I know it's a different fare than most fanfic out there, but I hope it's enjoyable and true to character all the same. Comments and critiques are welcome. A writer needs both to become better. 

Anyway, onto some general notes for the chapter and the saga in general:

In the comic books, Steven's super serum begins to degrade. Loki's call out is a reference to that.

The Dwarves had a mead that could make anyone a poet. I figured it wouldn't be a far reach that they could have an elixir that could make one immortal.

Although Steve and Loki cannot lie to one another, Loki has quickly realized he can hide the truth. Loki can't chance his nature overnight, even if he has been saved altruistically

Queen Frigga knows all that happens, but she only tells her handmaiden. Thus, it's not a far assumption that she knew what Loki would do.

chiaroscuro reference is my little shout out to Homestar Runner. If you know what that is, then it probably dates you just a tad.

Steve's mother quoted _Wayfaring Stranger_ The lyrics are:  
I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger,   
Traveling through this world of woe   
There is no sickness, nor toil nor danger   
In that bright land to which I go.  
 I'm going there to see my Father  
 And all my loved ones who've gone on  
 I'm only going over Jordan  
 I'm only going over home    
I know dark clouds will gather 'round me  
 I know my way is rough and steep  
 Yet golden fields lie just before me   
Where God's redeemed shall ever sleep  
 I'm going there to see my mother  
 She said she'd meet me when I come  
 I'm only going over Jordan   
I'm only going over home    
I want to wear a crown of glory   
When I get home to that good land  
 I want to shout salvation's story   
In concert with the blood-washed band  
I'm going there to meet my Saviour   
To sing his praise forever more  
 I'm just a going over Jordan  
 I'm just a going over home

 

About the afterward:  
The “man made of metal” is, of course, Wolverine.

The orange thread with the blue in it is Tony. The technological sorcerer. 

Skuld is painted in the sagas as somewhat impetuous. While Verdandi and Urd are inclined to give happy destinies, it is Skuld who would corrupt them. She wears a veil in the mythologies because the future is also veiled. 

She also moonlighted as a Valkyrie. It was this armor she was donning during the discussion with her sister.


End file.
